


it's not an epic romance (it's a love affair)

by ErisDea



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, HOLY HOT PORN BATMAN, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attacks, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unethical Experimentation, blackout orgasms, darcy has no soulmate, okay it's not SOME anymore, oops wrong comics, powerplays while sexing, some mentions of depression symptoms?, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 208,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisDea/pseuds/ErisDea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They come together at the worst possible time. </p><p>(And to be fair, the writing on his back and her unmarred skin literally promises that they will never have the romance of the century.)</p><p>-----------</p><p>See warning tags please :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [write love on my skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835587) by [amusewithaview](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For L, because that comment about Darcy and no/dead soulmate made my brain run away with the idea, and then this story wrote itself. It hijacked by fingers and _wrote itself_.
> 
> Scary. Shit.
> 
> It starts out heavy and then loses traction and then I don't know what the hell happened. Again, _it wrote itself_.
> 
> Unbeta'd. If you see mistakes, please say so and I'll fix it. I AM POSTING THIS NOW SO I CAN SLEEP BECAUSE I HAVE LITERALLY BEEN WRITING THIS FOR EIGHTEEN HOURS, BECAUSE WEEKEND OMG. AND DON'T EVEN ASK ABOUT THE TITLE, BECAUSE EIGHTEEN HOURS AND UGH, MY _BRAIN_.
> 
> *Edit 1: So apparently, eighteen hours of writing produces a story so awkwardly full of trauma-triggering events. Please read the warnings before you read the story.
> 
> *Edit 2: This chapter, specifically the Bucky-Darcy encounter, was rewritten as per the suggestion of Rainne, who also provided the replacement scenario. That's her part now, if she wants it =D (Yes, Rainne, it's yours now. Your version is much better than mine. I dunno how to express my thanks any more, so here, have an apple *winks*)

They come together at the worst possible time. Steve is hurting from the double blow of his failure to convince Bucky to come back to America with him and the news of Peggy’s passing and Darcy hadn’t been dealing well with the aftermath of her HYDRA kidnapping and it was just _the worst time_ for them to start a relationship.

(And to be fair, the writing on his back and her unmarred skin literally promises that they will never have the romance of the century.)

*

It hurts sometimes. Steve is a big guy, with big hands that hold enough power to crush a man’s skull if he put his all into it. It’s only logical that those hands can leave bruises on her body.

HYDRA had told her that no one was coming to save her and injected her with _something_ and turned out the light and then _left her there_ , and she had given into the lie before Thor and Iron Man could prove them wrong. She spent two _full_ days in the dark room, unable to see or hear or smell or feel, and while she told her body to walk and crawl and sit and _do something_ , she couldn’t tell whether she was _doing it_. She couldn’t even tell if she was still _breathing,_ and at one point had wondered if she had to go to the bathroom, or was even still _alive_.

It didn’t surprise her that on top of hunger and dehydration, she had also almost died from a head wound she didn’t even realize she’d gotten. Nor was it a surprise that it took Tony Stark and Bruce Banner another two days to come up with something that could get her back to normal. Or that she cycles through every possible way to remind herself she could feel, to _make sure_ she could feel.

Darcy doesn’t mind that that her pleasure sometimes comes with the cost of pain and bruises. She can’t, really, not when the first time had led to an almost full night of feeling _human_ again, of feeling more than paranoia and helplessness, and Steve, he’s everywhere on her, doesn’t _not_ touch her, meaning it doesn’t remind her of those four days of hell _at all_ , so really, either way, pleasure or pain, it was the best of both worlds.

The first time was undoubtedly a one night stand, as evidenced by the lack of manflesh when she woke up, and the second time nearly doesn’t happen at all when he sees the bruises. But Darcy, she knows possessiveness when she sees it, has seen it on the faces of her ex-boyfriends who’d sucked hickies onto her breasts, and it flashes on Steve’s face when he realizes the bruises are in the shape of his hands. So when he tells her he’s sorry and backs away towards the door, she darts in front of him and tells him she liked them and wants him to do it again, and then watches as he swallows and asks for her permission before sinking to his knees to mouth at every inch of every bruise while his fingers slip past her panties.

(And really, honestly, truly, _those fingers_ , _ugh_ , God _bless_ America.)

*

Steve isn’t a sadist. He doesn’t want to hurt her, and he does his damnedest to watch his strength when he’s got his body against hers. But he also doesn’t deny that he likes marking her, that he likes seeing the imprint of his mouth and hands on her thighs and hips and waist and breasts and neck. And when she tells him he has express permission to mark her wherever he wants, he has to check the impulse to dig his fingers into her hips a little harder than usual.

He’s not a sadist, and his hands _will not_ leave bruises on her body if he can help it.

“You’re lucky I own turtlenecks,” she says at one point while he soothes the bite he’d left at the base of her throat. “And scarves.”

“Bring them next time.”

She shudders. “Oh god.”

The scarves are a brilliant idea, and he makes sure to use them well. He’s aware of Darcy’s experience under HYDRA’s captivity and has noticed her aversion to dark settings, so he makes sure to have the lights set at their brightest when he folds the thinnest scarf over her eyes. “Can you see the light?”

Her body was the tensest he’s ever seen it, nervous for the first time in his presence. “Yes,” she says, licking her lips and digging her nails into the fabric in her hands. “And that’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard you say to date.”

_SMACK!_

She cries out, but her hips rise up to chase his hand. “That’s not how I want you to talk today, Miss Lewis,” he tells her, unable to suppress the little smirk that spreads his lips as her body flushed in reaction.

“Is that so, Captain Rogers?” she asks, fighting to steady her breathing. “Tell me what you want me to say.”

He waits a beat. “I want you to tell me when it feels too much.”

Her body shudders almost violently, and only the way her body sways eagerly forward tells him it’s not out of fear.

“Steve,” she says, licking her lips again. “I can take it.”

(And she does.)

*

Eventually, Steve pokes around in her nightstand drawer and finds the collection of toys she has on hand.

“And this?” he asks, lifting a slim blue phallus up for her to see.

Darcy had, by then, gotten over the initial embarrassment of his request, but the sight of _that one_ makes her cheeks heat up. “That’s little blue dude,” she answers, and tells him what little blue dude was for when he prompts her.

“Really?” he asks, intrigue in his voice. “Did you like it?”

“I’ve never tried it, actually,” she admits as he returns his gaze to the blue toy, and again, the thought that _there should be something wrong with seeing Captain America looking at my sex toys_ crosses her mind. But it doesn’t strike her as wrong, really. In fact, it’s pretty hot, and Darcy tries not to think about how she doesn’t need the jar of lube he’d set beside her knee anymore, not when she had this imagery right in front of her.

Steve looks back up at her. “Let’s change that,” he says.

(Steve uses the lube on that little blue dude, and Darcy is thankful for the sound-proof room and the gag in her mouth.)

*

If anyone knew, they wouldn’t blame him for being so chipper. How couldn’t he be when he’s got a gal like Darcy, who gets off on _telling_ him what to do on top of _feeling_ what he’s doing to her? And no, Steve still isn’t a sadist, but making Darcy _feel_ makes _him_ feel good, and the fact that she _wants_ his mark on her is just the cherry on top of his proverbial sundae.

“Have you met them?” she asks one day, two months after they meet.

He doesn’t have to ask who she means; her hand traces the writing on his back and it _burns_ him. “A long time ago,” he tells her, his voice somehow steady in spite of the cacophony of emotions that flood up his throat. “But he’s gone now.”

Her fingers trip over the flow of their movements, and she’s silent for so long that Steve turns over, wondering and worried. Darcy’s eyes never leave his back.

“But he’s not dead,” she finally says, slowly, like the words were still trying to make sense in her head.

Steve’s jaw clenches involuntarily, his hackles rising, demanding fight or flight and he is _not_ a sadist. He does not like _hurting_ Darcy.

But neither does he want to _leave_ her.

“No,” he forces himself to reply. “Not physically.”

She exhales, and there’s something heavy in her gaze when she looks at him, something like realization. “ _Steve_ ,” she says, and he surges up while pulling her down to him, his fingers threading through her hair before fisting a handful and forcing her back onto the bed.

“ _Steve_ ,” she gasps as he pushes her thighs apart, “oh my god, Steve, oh my _god!_ ”

She’s lovely, has he mentioned that? Lovely and devastating. He gets a kick in his gut every time she lies spread beneath him, the crown of her head pushing into the mattress and pillows, blue gaze peering out from under barely opened eyes, mouth parted as if she’s waiting for another—

“What do you want?” he asks before his mind can finish that thought. “Tell me.”

“Steve,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering shut briefly. “Whatever you want.”

He pauses, long enough that she notices and looks up at him. “Whatever you want,” she repeats, her hands moving up to cup his jaw and cheeks, “to do to me.”

He fails to fight back a shudder, because he wants to do _many_ things to her. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I think I do,” she says, leaning up for a quick kiss, her pretty lips sliding over his with just the right about of slick and friction. “Tell _me_.”

He does. She moans and slants her mouth against his and then pushes him back so she can get on her hands and knees and Steve, he takes her offer and cups her breasts in his hands to remind him who he’s really with.

(He doesn’t tell her she reminds him of Bucky. Of the Bucky _before_ , the one he’d failed to find.)

*

“Darcy, what the hell!” is the only warning she has, and then Jane is suddenly _in her space_ and _yanking her shirt up_.

“Jane!” she protests, twisting away, but Jane has her shirt clenched in her fist and manages to keep her grip.

They’re in the dining room, Thor and Erik setting the table up while Jane and Darcy unpack the takeout, Tony walking in with Bruce, and when Jane pulls her top up, two gasps are accompanied by things clattering loudly on the table.

“What the fuck,” Tony says, and then Thor is suddenly standing beside her too.

“ _Lady Darcy_ ,” he rumbles, eyes wide with building rage, “ _who has done this to you?_ ”

Darcy grimaces and pushes Jane’s hand off her, taking a step back once she’s free. “It’s fine,” she says.

“That doesn’t look fine,” Erik tells her.

“That’s the picture you find on the dictionary beside the word abuse,” Tony tacks on, but Darcy holds her hand up sharply and glares.

“It’s none of your business,” she tells them firmly.

“None of our business!?” Jane echoes. “Are you kidding me? Darcy, you have _hand-shaped bruises_ on your waist! Oh my god!” she exclaims. “You’ve been walking funny for _days_.”

Oh dear god, _seriously?_ “Yes, Jane,” she grits out, “that happens when people get a little too into _the sex_.”

“But you’re not _seeing_ anyone!” And then Jane straightens up abruptly, her eyes widening. “Darcy, oh god, are you—? Did someone—?”

 _Everybody_ gets the gist almost immediately. “Oh my god,” Darcy gripes, turning on her heel. “We are not having this conversation.”

“The fact that you didn’t answer the question is answer enough,” Jane says with a shaky voice.

Darcy whirls back around. “Oh my god,” she repeats. “No, just— Jane, _jesus!_ That is _so not_ what happened.”

“You’re coming to the infirmary,” Bruce says from his place at the door way, his face pinched.

“What’s going on?” Darcy stiffens, suddenly realizing how potentially fast things can get out of hand if she doesn’t _do something_. “Is someone hurt?”

“Lewis is,” Tony says before Darcy can even _think_ of a reply.

“ _What?_ ” Steve asks, slipping past Bruce. His eyes find her immediately, raking over her body, and Darcy sighs and folds her arms.

“I’m fine,” she says for the second time, meeting his gaze when he looks back at her face.

“ _You have giant bruises on your body!_ ” Jane yells, as if she hasn’t noticed. “ _You are not fine!_ ”

“You are coming to the infirmary,” Bruce repeats.

“ _No_ ,” Darcy emphasizes, “I’m _not_.”

(And she doesn’t.)

*

“Maybe she really is just having rough sex,” Tony says. “Maybe that’s how she gets her rocks off. Figuratively speaking.”

Dr. Foster shoots him a dirty look, but it’s Thor who replies, much to her mortification. “My beloved Jane and I have performed such acts, and never have I left such bruises upon her flesh.”

“Thor!”

Tony whistles. “TMI, Thor, but good for you, buddy.”

“I know that this is a more openly-speculated topic now, but is this really anyone else’s business but Miss Lewis and her lover’s?” Steve wonders aloud, furrowing his brows together.

“Steve,” Bruce speaks up, “those bruises looked really bad. Whoever the guy is, he’s using all of his strength to leave those there. He _wants_ them there. And he might not be ensuring that Darcy’s fully comfortable with what they’re doing. Hell, Darcy might not even know he’s leaving them until she sees them in the mirror.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts.

“You think she’s still affected by whatever HYDRA gave her?” Steve demands, having never even considered the thought. But the worry subsides just as quickly, because Darcy had never failed to respond to even the lightest of touches, and the first few memories he has of such moments are enough to disprove the idea to Steve.

“Maybe,” Bruce says. “What we gave her was tailored to her DNA. It should’ve countered the effects of the sensory-deprivation agent completely, and the tests I ran on her blood samples after showed a hundred-percent success. But,” he adds, “a few tests might be necessary, if only to check that it didn’t somehow come back.”

Steve thinks a follow up test shouldn’t hurt and asks, “Does it have to be blood?”

“No,” Bruce answers, perking up. “Blood’s the best baseline if we want to get everything checked, but a saliva or urine sample would do just as well for what we’re after.”

“I can do that,” Foster says. “Saliva. I can get you that.”

So can Steve, but why implicate himself if someone else won’t be questioned for doing it?

“JARVIS,” Tony suddenly says, “d’you know who Lewis has been talking to besides us?”

“Miss Lewis frequently visits the cafeterias in the lower floors to fetch lunch and dinner,” JARVIS reports. “She has made several acquaintances in that manner. As of last week, Miss Lewis has begun leaving the vicinity of the tower,” and here everyone straightens up, “to visit the nearby eateries. She usually returns with coffees for Prince Thor and Doctors Foster and Selvig, and occasionally yourself and Doctor Banner. These are the only instances in which she interacts with those outside the members of the Avengers Initiative and their affiliates.”

“Darcy didn’t tell me she’s been going out,” Foster says slowly.

“So maybe whoever _did it_ was an outsider? Literally?” Tony speculates. “JARVIS, keep an eye on Lewis. Where she goes, who she visits. Just tell us when so we can follow her.”

“Tony,” Steve says sternly, fighting to keep his composure as adrenaline surged through him at the restrictions Darcy was unknowingly receiving.

“What?” he asks shamelessly. “Her bedroom’s in the authorized people only levels of the tower, so she can’t be meeting him there, which leaves the lower levels, and to my knowledge, Lewis hasn’t gone more than a block away, not since we got her out of HYDRA’s grubby paws, so if she’s seeing someone, he either works in the building or lives or works nearby. Ergo, let’s keep an eye on her comings and goings. We’ll figure it out faster than if we sat her down for a chat.”

“Okay,” Foster says.

“Really?” Steve has to ask. “You don’t think this is a huge invasion of her privacy?”

“Darcy’s my best friend,” Foster tells him. “If some asshole is hurting her, I’m going to find out who, and then I’m going to make him wish he never laid eyes on her.”

“And I shall endeavor to help you, my love,” Thor agrees.

(Wow. Just wow. These people, they’re his friends, but they’re just _wow_. Honestly.)

*

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“ _Do_ you know?”

“If you are referring to my knowledge of the identity of Miss Lewis’s clandestine paramour, the answer to your question is yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell Tony?”

“My privacy protocols are still enabled, Captain Rogers, and Miss Lewis has asked me to keep my awareness of certain facts as undisclosed as I possibly can. So long as the question is not appropriately worded, I will be able to keep Miss Lewis’s secret.”

“Oh.”

“Captain, might I point out that my privacy protocols extend to _all_ who reside within the tower.”

“…oh! Okay. Uh, can you please—? No, wait— _would_ you please not inform anyone of the identity of… of Miss Lewis’s clandestine paramour?”

“I shall do my best, Captain. But you must understand, it is, above all else, my duty to provide my maker, Anthony Stark, with the information that he requests from me. While I shall strive to comply with your request for privacy, I am duty-bound to provide this information should he specifically ask for it, or if it be necessary for him to know of it.”

“I understand, JARVIS. Thank you very much.”

“Of course, Captain. And if I may, I can provide you with the necessary reading material to address the concerns Doctor Banner raised.”

“…yes. Please. I’d like to see those.”

“Very good, sir.”

(It takes him two hours to finish the readings, and he passes by a 24-hour drugstore during his run.)

*

“Are you mad at me?” she asks later, when he sneaks into her room.

“No, of course not,” he tells her, and she exhales shakily, the relief obvious on her face.

“C’mere,” she says, and he leans in, meeting her halfway for a kiss and helping her settle on his lap, her naked body telling him she’d expected his visit.

“They’re going to watch you,” he warns her as she undoes his pants. “JARVIS is going to report your every move.”

“My _every_ move?” she asks with _that tone_ and _those moves_ , and he buries his face in her neck and laughs, because _this girl_. “I guess we have to get a bit more creative in sneaking around then. Good thing you’re sneaky and I’m creative.”

“Oh? You think we’d make a good team?” he asks before tugging gently at the dark splotch on the skin of her neck.

“We already do,” she laughs, sinking him into her.

(They do, don’t they? Huh. He hadn’t noticed until now.)

*

When it comes to people like him, there’s a line people like her can’t cross.

That line is love.

Darcy doesn’t quite know when she did, but she crossed it.

She crossed it and never looked back until it was too late.

(More fool her.)

*

Four months after Steve moves into the tower, the Winter Soldier pays them a visit.

Only, it’s not the Winter Soldier. Not just.

“Steve,” the assassin says. “I need to talk to him.”

“He’s listening,” Natasha replies, and yes, Steve’s listening. And staring. And digging his nails into his palms. And feeling like he’s choking on his heart.

“Steve,” the Winter Soldier says, his eyes somehow finding the real camera that’s designed to be invisible, completely skipping the fake camera stuck across it. “Punk, it’s me.”

(Steve’s out of the door so fast he doesn’t even hear his chair clatter to the floor.)

*

They stop four months after they start and Darcy tries not to resent him for it. He’d never promised her anything (anything but pleasure, anything but getting her off and doing what she asked him to and—) and she’d _known_ he had a soulmate even on that first night and knew he would never be hers even before she knew who he belonged to. She has no right to be mad.

She had no right to miss him.

(But she does and it hurts that he’s gone and she doesn’t know why she can’t go back to the life she lived before he was in it but she can’t she just can’t and it hurts and hurts and aches and aches and—)

*

He notices, of course. Everyone does. Darcy is the most civilian of them, more so than Dr. Foster. She was… she was the _baby_ of their dysfunctional family, so _of course_ everyone is tripping over themselves trying to figure out what was going on with her.

It’s Dr. Foster who ‘solves’ the mystery.

“Her bruises are almost gone,” the scientist declares once everyone had gathered for an impromptu meeting. “Darcy broke up with him!”

“Who?” Bucky asks when (almost) everyone breaks out in smiles and cheer.

“How do you know?” Tony demands.

“I… I check,” Foster says, looking away with a flush on her cheeks. “She falls asleep in the lab sometimes. But anyway, it’s been a while since fresh bruises showed.”

“Foster, you little pervert,” Tony says affectionately.

“Shut up, Stark.”

“We must celebrate!” Thor declares. “Our Lady Darcy has freed herself from the chains of a monstrous villain. This calls for a feast!”

(A monstrous villain. Yes, he certainly feels that way every time he sees her now.)

*

When Barnes arrives, the first thing Natasha does is pull Darcy aside and give her some advice. “If he’s triggered,” the former spy says, “you run. You use everything around you to hide from him, especially if he has a weapon. He is a marksman, and the only person I know who’s a better shot than him is Clint. So you will run, and hide, and,” she holds up a slim bracelet, “you will activate this. It will send a message to JARVIS, and he will relay the situation to us.”

And then Natasha _trains_ her. Not to fight, but to escape and evade. (Clint, the little paintball-bearing bastard, is happy to help.)

But Darcy’s also smarter than people give her credit for, so she doesn’t need Natasha to tell her that if she wants to keep her, ahem, _affair_ with Steve a secret from him, then she shouldn’t actively _avoid_ Bucky Barnes. In fact, she does the exact opposite and seeks him out, often in between her time with Natasha and her time with Jane, and when she doesn’t, she leaves books and DVDs and food outside his door, with advice scrawled on a sticky note and stuck to her offerings. And if she has to get up an hour earlier than usual to mentally prepare herself to smile at him, well, no one’s gonna know anyway.

Barnes suspects nothing as far as she can tell, because while he thanks her politely for the little treasures she leaves for him, he still treats her with the same aloofness he does the others when face to face, and there is nothing to indicate that he wants to murder her for sleeping with Steve. Still, she never lets herself forget that the man is an assassin, and strives to never falter in her ‘training’ or routine.

(She doesn’t, and ironically, it’s not how she treats him that gives her away.)

*

It doesn’t take long for Steve to fall into bed with him. Bucky’s getting better, remembering more and more about his life, the good and the bad, and no, it’s not easy, but it’s better, and Steve, Steve will take what he can get.

It also doesn’t take long for him to realize why he kept going back to Darcy after that first time, aside from being able to forget all his hurts by losing himself in her.

Darcy was _mouthy_. Talkative and demanding.

And so was Bucky.

 _That’s_ what gets Steve off.

“You jerk,” he says into the pillows, breathless and stuck in that space between coming down from the highest high and floating just above ground.

Bucky chuckles and slides onto the pillows beside him. “You loved it.” He does. “You ever come that hard with her?”

He stills, dropping out of the high like… like a Chitauri space whale cut off from its power source.

“Oh, come on, punk, give me some credit,” Bucky exclaims with a huff. “I got eyes. I see her dancin’ around you like you’re a leper.”

“Buck…”

“Answer the question, Rogers,” he says firmly.

He exhales shakily. “Yes.”

Bucky hums, turning to his side, and then Steve feels a slightly cool hand slide back to the place where he’s slick and now a bit achy. “She ever fuck you?”

Steve swallows. “No.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Bucky, I don’t—”

“Tell me,” he repeats, and Steve surges into the bed and his pillow with a choked gasp when unyielding fingers slip abruptly inside, “about her.”

So he does.

(He can’t remember exactly what he says, but Bucky doesn’t seem bothered and Steve, he’s just gonna keep an eye on Darcy for a while, just in case.)

*

(“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“I need a favor. About that panic button...”)

*

Barnes isn’t an Avenger, not yet. Sam Wilson, the guy both he and Steve trust to act as his therapist, doesn’t recommend that he join the team just yet, not unless the situation became so dire that none of the team could handle it. So when Tony gets a call that summons all the Avengers and has them jetting to the south coast, Barnes is the only one left behind.

Darcy isn’t really that worried. Barnes had yet to give her problems of any kind, and Wilson the therapist stays with him in the media room, helping him catch up on pop culture via Tony’s entertainment system, so she expects them to stay there until the team comes back.

She does _not_ expect to find him in her room, sitting on her bed and, she flushes, holding little blue dude.

“Come here,” he says.

She swallows hard. “Why?”

“I wanna talk to you. About Steve.”

“What about Steve?”

He is silent for a long moment, studying her, before he tosses Little Blue Dude back into her bedside drawer.

“I _should_ kill you,” he says, the sound almost too loud in her ear. “You _touched_ what wasn’t _yours_.”

“I’m sorry,” she tells him reflexively.

“ _Are you?”_ he demands, rising to his feet. “ _Are you_ sorry?”

When she doesn’t answer, he _moves_ , and before she can get over the dizziness and figure out what happened, he’s already pressing her up against her bedroom door.  His metal hand is wrapped around her throat, squeezing just enough to make sparks fly at the edges of her vision.

A thrill of fear tingles through her, knowing exactly what would happen if he decided to keep squeezing. The loss of oxygen could eventually put her in a coma, could make her a vegetable, unaware, trapped in darkness, no way to feel anything—

“Are. you. _sorry?”_ he asks again, sounding distant, but it’s enough to tear into the panic sweeping up her spine, and she looks up and is nearly shocked to still be able to see.

Sight. Sound. Smell. Sensation. She needs them. She needs them now, needs to know she isn’t back there, isn’t drugged, isn’t trapped—

Her face snaps to the side right before _pain_ blossoms through her cheek, and she cries out, unprepared for the feeling.

The feeling. She was feeling, she can feel, she had—

“Miss Lewis?” JARVIS’s voice cuts through the shock, and both she and Barnes look up, startled by the intrusion. “My protocols indicate that you may be in some distress. Do you wish me to alert Mister Wilson that you are in need of assistance?”

She stares into Barnes’s dark eyes. He stares back. There is a long moment of silence, and then the pressure of his hand becomes very, very slightly less. She swallows hard. “No, JARVIS," she says. “I'm okay for right now.”

“I will continue to monitor your vital signs,” JARVIS replies, and there might be a hint of disapproval in his tone.

Darcy swallows again. “Thank you, JARVIS,” she whispers.

Barnes glares down at her and growls. “Answer the question!” So she does.

“No,” she whispers, and he rears back a little, like he’s surprised at her answer.

“No?” he repeats, tone flat with just a hint of disbelief.

“No,” she confirms, opening her eyes and focusing on him, looking and listening and breathing and feeling him all around her and it helps, it helps settle her long enough to formulate her answer. “I’m not sorry,” she says, watching Barnes as his face blanks out. “I wanted him.”

“So you took him,” he spits out, lips curling into a snarl, his anger appearing through the emptiness of his face. “You took him and _touched him_ even after you saw he was _marked_ —”

“Yes,” she says, voice shaking. “Yes, I knew he had someone and—” And then the thought comes, unbidden, and she laughs, perhaps a little hysterically. “And you know what?” she continues, lining her tone with a vindictive, derisive quality. “He was _free_.”

Barnes _flinches_ , and this, this hurt, it _emboldens_ her, because _yes_ , he was an assassin, she’s all too aware of _that_ little gem and if he was _here_ then there was only one reason for it and if she was going to _die_ at his hand? Then she sure as _fuck_ was going to take him down with her.

“He was free for the taking, free because you let him go,” she bulldozes on, her anger and resentment rising to the fore, making her reckless and petty. “You left him and you _made_ him go and I know it was you because Steve isn’t the type to abandon the person he loves most in this world and the person he loves the most is _you_. _You_ made him leave, _you_ broke his heart, you _broke it in two_ , and what’s _worse_ is that you _made_ him _shatter_ it to pieces because you _forced_ him to walk away, you _forced_ him to _abandon_ you! _Do you even know what that did to him?”_ she demands. “Do you even know what he _looked like_ when he got here?”

And then she bares her teeth at him and leans up and says, “Do you want to know the _first_ thing he did when he arrived?”

Realization skitters across his face, and then Barnes snarls and suddenly, he moves his hand off her neck to pull at her hair, and he glares down at her, his fury fully formed on his face.

“The only reason I’m not going to kill you,” he says, “is because they’ll know it was me.”

And then he slams his lips against hers.

( _Whaaaaat?_ goes her brain.)

*

“You want me to _what?_ ”

(It takes him a few hours, but Darcy Lewis is eventually convinced.)

*

When he and the team return to the tower, all Steve wants to do is check in on Bucky, hop into the shower, get a bite to eat and then sleep for the next _week_.

“Hey Buck, Sam,” he says upon seeing them waiting just outside the helicopter deck. “How’d it go?”

“That’s my line,” he’s told.

“It was fine,” Sam says. “Watched some movies, shot the breeze, no sweat,” he shrugs, and Steve feels relief uncurl through his chest.

“Great,” he sighs, grinning at Bucky. “I’m gonna shower and eat then sleep, unless you wanted to do something.”

The way Bucky’s eyes darkens, the way his lips curl up ever so slightly, tells him that Bucky has _plans_ , and despite the fatigue weighing over his body like a heavy blanket, Steve feels a frisson of desire skate down his body. “Nah,” he says, though Steve can tell he’s saying the opposite. “I’ll bring up some food while you go get showered.”

So he does.

“Got you a nice spread,” Bucky says, slipping into the bathroom. “Should be satisfying, ‘specially after that,” he adds, gesturing to the dirty uniform Steve had dumped to the side.

“Thanks,” he replies, leaning in when Bucky does and moaning when he feels fingers rake shampoo in his hair. “Gonna send me straight to sleep,” he warns.

Bucky chuckles and pulls away to shuck his shirt off, and Steve’s eyes drop to the script scribbled in tight lettering along his ribs that respond to the words scrawled across his own back, an ever-present reminder of the first time they met. “I can think of a few ways to keep you up,” Bucky says, stepping in beside Steve.

The groping proves effective in rubbing the lethargy deep into his bones, and by the time he steps out of the shower, his eyelids are dragging shut every few seconds, and all he wants to do is eat and go to sleep. He stops Bucky when he wraps a hand around him once more and says, “M’just gonna drop out on you” as he rubs a towel through his hair, and he thinks his yawn sells the point for him. “Seriously, I need to sleep. Rain check?”

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he chews on the inside of his bottom lip, clearly considering the request. Steve wonders what there was to even consider; Bucky is a demanding lover, a bit of a taskmaster, but he’s not unreasonable, and he wouldn’t start something if Steve isn’t going to give his all to it.

“You’re sure?” he asks. “Once you say no, I’m not letting you change your mind.”

“Buck, seriously, I’m wrung out,” he sighs. “Tomorrow. You can wake me up if you want, but tomorrow.”

“No? Is that really your final answer?”

“Yes,” he replies, a little annoyed now. “Yes, it’s a no.”

Bucky visibly bites back a grin. “Okay,” he finally nods, his voice holding a laugh as he opens the door. “You can join me tomorrow.”

Steve rolls his eyes and follows him into the bedroom, just as naked as the man before him. “Thank you _so much_ , Your Majesty, for your benevolent— _Darcy?_ ” he gasps, freezing mid-step at the sight of her.

“Hi,” she greets, her fingers wiggling at him with a playful grace that belied her current situation, which was also naked, but unlike them, Darcy was spread upside down over the bed, her head half over the edge, her hair hanging over the floor in shiny waves, her arms stretched out and bound to the legs of the bedframe by a familiar set of scarves. “Took you long enough. I was just thinking about getting some shuteye.”

“Bad news, doll,” Bucky tells her, approaching the bed and reaching out to smooth a hand over her belly, making the muscles there contract as she bites back an involuntary giggle. “Steve’s _too tired_ to play with us today.”

“ _Us?_ ” he echoes, the word coming out strangled, because  _fuck_ , he should've  _known_ something was going to happen.

“That’s… really inconvenient,” she replies, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

Bucky hums an agreement. “That’s okay,” he says, his hand sliding lower on her body until it was between her slightly splayed legs. “There’s always tomorrow for him.”

Steve doesn’t even realize he makes a sound of protest, his eyes glued to the space where Bucky’s hand was.

“Steve,” Bucky calls, and he doesn’t even need to voice the silent “Look at me” for him to obey the command. Those blue eyes held a both warning and a taunt in them. “You chose this,” he reminds Steve, and Darcy suddenly cries out, her hips lurching up and drawing Steve’s attention back to her. “Go sit at the table,” Bucky says, and that’s the only time he even realizes that there were several plates of still-steaming food waiting for him on a table that hadn’t been there when he came through earlier.

“Go sit at the table, Steve,” Darcy reinforces, and Steve, he’s pretty good at strategies and tactics and he can easily see what the two of them had in store for him.

He sincerely regrets telling Bucky he wanted to sleep, because sleep was the last thing he wanted to do anymore.

“We’re going to play a game,” Bucky tells him once he’s seated. “For every bite you take, Lewis here’s going to tell me what she wants me to do to her, and I’m gonna do it.”

Steve tries not to think that the world was being unfair and just _fails_. “And when I run out of food?” he asks.

Bucky smiles, dark and wicked and just _evil_. “Then it’s my turn to do what I want to her.”

( _Why? Why_ did he say _no? Why???_ )

*

 _Of course_ they all notice when Darcy gains a spring in her step again, and it doesn’t take long for someone to find out what it was. Steve is in the kitchen with Bucky, mugs of cocoa in their hands, when everyone starts trekking in.

“Goddamn it!” Dr. Foster says as soon as she enters the room.

“What’s wrong with her _this time?_ ” Tony asks, looking exasperated.

“She’s seeing _him_ again,” Foster gripes.

“Him?” Tony repeats, and then, “ _Him?_ ” he sneers. “Are you fucking kidding?”

“Him or someone like him,” Foster says, waving her hand dismissively. “Does it matter who? The point is that she’s getting hurt again.”

Bruce sighs. “I suppose it’s useless for us to try asking her to come in for a checkup?”

“JARVIS,” Tony says, “put the Lewis Protocol back up.”

“As you wish, sir,” JARVIS replies.

“So we didn’t figure out who the guy was last time,” Tony says, “but maybe this is our chance to find out.”

Steve raises his mug to his lips, his eyes meeting Bucky’s over the rim, and takes a sip to hide his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what I mean?
> 
> And yes, yes I am addicted to the Darcy-Steve-Bucky sandwich. I PLAY FOR THEIR TEAM AND FEEL NO SHAME FOR IT. I WAVE THEIR FREAKING FLAG OKAY? (BUT I WAS ALSO SURPRISED WHEN BUCKY SHOWED UP AND DID A MEL GIBSON AND YELLED "THREESOME!!!" OH WAIT NO THAT WAS "FREEDOM" MY BAD.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Bucky and Darcy muse to themselves how their ménage à trois is going. Jane and Tony get told off by Someone for keeping an eye on Darcy without her knowledge. Steve realizes Someone knows about their relationship with Darcy, and Bucky and Darcy fulfill one of Steve's secret fantasies. And some feel-good moments with the others at the end, although Bucky's still being all Winter Soldier-y because of _reasons_ , so...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PORN. THERE IS PORN IN THIS CHAPTER. I WROTE PORN, ACTUALFACTS PORN, _EXPLICIT_ PORN, FUCK, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. AND I CAN'T STOP SHAKING MY LEG, HOLY HOT PORN BATMAN.
> 
> AND DIRTY TALK. SO MUCH. DIRTY TALK. I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE I WROTE THE THINGS THEY SAY IN HERE. _I_ DON'T SAY THOSE THINGS, O.M.GEEEEEE.
> 
> Whew. Okay. Okay, see that rating? That was 'Mature' before. Steve tried to keep it that way, but then BUCKY happened. And then DARCY happened. And um, if backdoor *coughanalcough* sex is not your thing, you probably shouldn't read this. But on the other hand, there is plot interspersed with the sexing, if you squint, so...
> 
> I love this chapter, but it also, ugh, makes me feel so embarrassed. And horny, oh god, the horny. But mostly embarrassed, because WOW I DID NOT KNOW I HAD THIS IN ME. LIKE LITERALLY, IT WAS SOMEWHERE IN MY BRAIN AND JUST CAME OUT OF NOWHERE.
> 
> OH DEAR THOR WHAT HAVE I WRITTEN?

He was wary at first.

Okay, that was a lie. He was _ecstatic_ at first. How couldn’t he be? The girl he’d been tumbling head over heels for and the soulmate he’d lost and regained were _together_ , were _getting along_ , and he knew—he _knew_ —that they were getting along _for him_. So _yes_ , _that_ was his first reaction, followed quickly by desire and frustration and a brief bout of self-recrimination because _of course_ he would fall for people who loved to see him squirm.

Of course, he would.

Story of his _life_.

After though? Yeah, he was wary. Bucky was a possessive guy before, and he was proving to be the same now. It was the reason he’d been so worried about Bucky finding out about his relationship with Darcy in the first place, never mind that he ended it almost as soon as Bucky showed up.

It takes him two weeks to stop worrying and start relaxing his guard. Whatever conversation they had prior to Darcy joining them seemed to have established some sort of peace between them, and while not completely friendly in a public setting, they seemed quite comfortable with socializing while naked. (And y’know, while _getting_ naked.)

(Seriously, watching Bucky undressing Darcy, the way he touches her before taking fabric off her skin, brushing, scratching, rubbing, groping, pinching, tweaking and mouthing at her lovely and soft and supple flesh, is often foreplay enough for Steve.)

He couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying that, enjoying them. It didn’t help that watching them come together felt like a kick in the gut every time, that watching Darcy egg Bucky on with bright eyes and swollen lips made him fall for her just a little more. It didn’t help that watching Bucky spread his flesh and metal hands over her body and leave his own marks beside his on her skin made the most sense in the world.

She was like a canvas filled with every color in existence, all streaked and spattered and swirled into a masterpiece; a canvas he and Bucky liked to finger paint on to make it theirs, make _her_ theirs.

Steve still wonders how he got so lucky, finding Darcy.

(And then he remembers what led him to her, and the memories serve as a reminder to never take her, or Bucky, for granted.)

*

Okay, he’ll admit it, he’d been wrong. Darcy Lewis? Not as terrible as he thought it—she—would be.

His reservations about her were proving to be unfounded. Lewis knew her place, and had outright told him that if he wanted her out, then she’d be out. He hadn’t even had to say it himself, which worked out well in his mission to invite her into his and Steve’s bed to make Steve happy with him.

What was perhaps more surprising was how well they worked together. He found that he could tolerate her, tolerate touching her, fucking her, putting his mouth to her flesh and tasting her release on his tongue, and often found himself enjoying it too, but only so long as Steve was there as well, watching with flushed cheeks and glazed eyes as he made Lewis squirm and talk and scream his name. And Lewis, he learned, was just as eager as he was to put a show on for Steve, opening her body to him, _despite_ his treatment of her during that private encounter in her bedroom, because clearly, she wants Steve more than she values her safety.

It doesn’t take him long to see why Steve liked her so much too, why Steve went back to her, kept going back to her, kept thinking about her and missing her: she was Bucky Barnes in female form, without the baggage of the Winter Soldier.

Well, almost. Lewis couldn’t relate to the inside jokes, the ever-growing references to things that happened long before any of her grandparents even met, because she never had Steve with her growing up, had never known him before the serum, and he sees that ignorance, that knowledge she has that he has parts of Steve she could never touch if she tried, and all that—on top of being able to spend time with Steve during the day, when she couldn’t—helps.

It helps a lot. Helps him control himself, helps the desire to kill her fade just a little bit more every day, helps him tolerate her.

For Steve, he can tolerate her, and for Steve, they could work together.

(He’s also constantly amused at how she can shy away from his knives, his guns, but enjoys attention from his most obvious and irremovable weapon.)

*

She sinks into the rhythm Barnes sets with an ease that surprises her. He’s a lot like her, she discovers, in that he likes to talk almost as much as he likes to touch, and it’s hot, _so very hot_ , to watch and hear and feel and taste Steve just fall apart at their dual efforts. What’s better is that she isn’t just a prop for him to use on Steve, he actually works _with_ her, accepting and performing whatever she says so long as it drives Steve crazy.

But when it’s just them, without Steve there to perform for, Barnes prefers to ignore her, doesn’t express an interest in getting to know her, and Darcy, she’s waffling between being okay with it and being bothered by it. Because on one hand, she’s there for _Steve_ , for the man she trusted and accidentally fell in love with, and if that meant being a footnote in his love story with his soulmate, then Darcy will make do, will take what she can get.

After all, she wasn’t the first person on Earth to enter a relationship with established soulmates, and she knows she won’t be the last.

But on the other, she’s getting to _know_ Barnes too, starting to notice the things he likes and dislikes both in and out of bed and learning to read his moods and habits. She knows that the skin under his left ear can get him off at the right moment, and that he tests Steve’s food and drink that hadn’t been prepared in front of him, and that he can’t sleep unless Steve’s there with him, and—

(—and that he read and watched everything she’d left outside his door, keeps the books and DVD covers on the short bookshelf in the corner of the room arranged in the order she gave them, sticky notes still attached, and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him she’d expected him to give them back.)

(—and that he can be soft sometimes, tender, gentle, even when he’s gripping her tighter than he should, even when he’s ruining her for every other man, even Ste—)

—that was dangerous. Because if there’s one thing she learned from her time with Steve pre-Barnes, it’s that she needs to watch herself, to watch out for her heart, lest it trip and fall for Barnes the same way she had for Steve.

Because Barnes? He’s almost just like Steve, just as lost, just as unbalanced, but he’s a lot more dangerous and unstable and most days, Darcy wonders whether the triumphant glint she sees in his eyes is because he’s making her scream in the best ways possible or because he’s about to make her scream for an entirely different reason.

But then he doesn’t. He just keeps going, talking and telling Steve how good she was being for him and making her tell Steve what she needed and wanted until she’s flying, breaking free of the frustration they’d stirred inside her, and recently, he’s a lot more careful with her (though that may be because he nearly crushed her skull instead of ripping into the pillow under her head while he was between her and Steve), which was—

No. Just… no. It could be easy if she lets i—

But no. _No_.

 _She_ _doesn’t want to_. She doesn’t want to empathize with him, doesn’t want to like him, doesn’t want to _love him_.

With Steve, it was too late, she’d let her guard down, let him in, and he waltzed right through the open gates and made himself at home before she even realized the gates had been open in the first place. And when he left her for Barnes…

Suffice to say, she wasn’t going to let that happen to her again. Especially over the man who’d threatened to kill her before offering her the chance for a threesome with his soulmate, whom she was in love with.

(… _ugh_ , her _life_.)

*

“Ten months.”

“I know.”

“Ten. fucking. months.”

“I _know_.”

“I can’t believe this!” Tony throws his hands up. “Who the fuck _is_ this guy—the Invisible Man? Oh, _fuck_. JARVIS, give the building a once over with the thermal scanners, make sure every heat signature is accounted for.”

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS says, a hint of exasperation in his tone. Steve bites down on a laugh to keep his expression steady.

Natasha and Clint walk in, clad in sports gear damp with sweat. “Lewis again?” Clint asks.

“Who else!” Jane exclaims empathically. Steve sees Natasha roll her eyes as she ducks into the fridge, coming back up with plastic food containers.

“Y’know, this,” Clint gestures to the room and everyone in it, “is getting creepy. And it’s not because of Lewis’s invisible boyfriend either.”

“They’re just worried, Clint,” Bruce says.

“They?” Natasha pursues, leaning a hip into the counter as she opens the containers a bit and sticks them in the microwave. “Not you?”

Bruce shrugs, ignoring the piercing look Jane was now shooting him. “I’ve… come to the conclusion that Darcy’s love life is none of my business.”

“ _Excuse me?”_ Jane intones, which Steve frowns at, because it implies that Jane thought Darcy’s love life _was_ their business, which was an incredibly blatant and, quite frankly, absurd notion.

Bruce holds up a hand. “Jane, she might not like to talk about it, but Darcy must’ve had a good reason to stop seeing whoever it was at first.”

Steve curls his toes in his shoes, the guilt he felt for leaving her at all panging through him again.

“Perhaps because he was hurting her,” Bruce continues, “but perhaps not, considering that whoever she’s seeing now is still leaving bruises on her and she’s still with him. And yes,” he says when Jane tries to cut in, “perhaps she went back to the first guy, but that’s not the impression I’m getting. And while I also don’t get the impression that she’s scared to leave this second guy, we’ve all seen Darcy stand up for herself before—” Steve’s jaw clenches at the reminder, “—so I doubt she’ll have trouble doing it again.

“By my count,” he presses on as the microwave beeps and Natasha pulls out her food, the scent of chicken suddenly wafting through the air, “she’s been seeing this second person for three months, and she’s been more relaxed now than she was when she first got here.”

“That’s because you didn’t _know_ her before she got here,” Jane retorts, sounding frustrated, but not angry. “Darcy… she was… _carefree_. Her boyfriends are skinny hipster artists who couldn’t hurt a fly, much less use their hands to leave those kinds of bruises on her—”

“But that was the Darcy who wasn’t kidnapped and tortured by HYDRA,” Natasha pipes up, joining them at the island counter and sliding one of the containers to Clint, who leans in to savor the smell. “This Darcy has suffered a very traumatizing ordeal, and it takes a specific kind of person to come out of that unscathed. Darcy wasn’t that kind of person.” She looks up at Tony. “Neither were you.”

Tony’s jaw clenches, and Steve finally realizes why Tony has been so involved in Darcy’s well-being. Jane, Jane he’d understood, Thor too, but Tony had been a surprise. Now he knows it’s because Tony empathized with her, _related_ his experience to hers.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, and Steve should’ve realized that months ago. But it was, and he didn’t.

The ball of guilt resting in his gut expands.

“Those four days, they were hell for her, Jane,” Natasha continues, “and it changed her. And I understand that you care for her, and wish the best for her, especially after what she went through, but this,” she gestures to the room, much in the same way as Clint had, “this is going behind her back. This is spying on her private life. It won’t help her, and it won’t help your friendship with her.”

Jane’s chin dimples as she chews the inside of her lip, her eyes watery. “So what?” she asks. “What else can we do? What else can _I_ do?”

“I don’t know the answer to that,” Natasha says. “Only Darcy does, and she can’t tell you if you don’t ask.”

“She’ll just tell me to butt out again. And I can’t just leave this alone,” Jane tells her desperately.

“You must,” Natasha replies, “or you will lose your friend.”

(She says it while sticking her fork into her food and then looking from Jane to Steve. Steve tries and fails to not read into it.)

*

“Natasha knows, doesn’t she?”

Amusement bubbles up his throat and spills into a small laugh he isn’t able to contain. “Course she does, punk,” he replies. “Who do you think helped me talk to the little lady?”

Steve blinks at him, then relaxes. “Hey,” he nudges the metal arm, “you never did get around to telling me how that went about.”

Well, that was because the details would make Steve react in such a way that would ensure the fracture of their relationship, never mind that Lewis had accepted the arrangement of her own volition, and with her own conditions, for her own selfish reasons. (A part of him understands her selfishness, has the same firsthand experience of Steve’s addictiveness. This doesn’t mean he hadn’t resented her for how she got them in the first place, or that she’d had the nerve to take away the privacy once available to him and his soulmate.)

“Why don’t you ask her?” he suggests in a light tone, plastering a smile on his face.

Steve shrugs. “M’askin’ _you_ ,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly _shy_ , Buck, that ain’t you.”

“Not _shy_ ,” he responds, thinking quickly. “Just wanna keep a few things to myself, y’know?” He alights on the perfect excuse. “The two of us, we got a lot of history between us. Not so much with her. Imagine how she feels when we crack jokes at each other she can’t relate to.” He frowns. “Or how I feel when you two do it.”

Steve looks stricken. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re right. I didn’t… I didn’t even notice that. I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Don’t be,” he tells Steve, a feeling, a good one, spreading through his chest. “You’re happy. She makes you happy. Your happiness makes me happy. We work.”

Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, Steve tugs him close, and he tilts his head to the right to accommodate the kiss coming his way. “You make me happy too,” Steve says quietly, his voice solemn. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

He nods. “Never again.”

He hopes.

Steve kisses him once more, and he pulls Steve closer, hands moving to slide into Steve’s pants and goose him. Steve laughs against his mouth and returns the act.

He’s promptly inspired. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he says.

“You already know everything about me,” Steve replies.

He licks at Steve’s jaw and rubs the tip of his nose just under Steve’s earlobe, feeling the full body shudder that racks through Steve’s body. “I don’t know what you’re thinking now,” he prods. “I don’t know what you’re thinking all the time. Tell me something.” He hides his frown by pressing a kiss under Steve’s chin. “Tell me what you think about when you think about Darcy Lewis.”

(Steve does, but only after he ends up on his knees, hands busy and mouth full, sucking and fondling every detail out of Steve for him to hear.)

*

“Has he asked you yet?”

Darcy turns her eyes away from her tablet resting on her knees to look at him where he’d thrown himself on the other side of the bed, balancing the tip of a knife on the tip of his right index finger. (The first time she sees him in the room with a weapon in his hands, she freaks a little (a lot), but he just looks at her, amused, and reminds her he’s not going to kill her. Fast forward three months and it doesn’t even register as a danger anymore. That was probably bad for her health, but…)

(But if there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he loved Steve.)

(And if there was one thing she could trust about him, it was that he wouldn’t kill her because it would hurt Steve.)

“Asked… how I got here?” she asks, gesturing to the bed they were both on. “Yeah, of course.”

Barnes goes as still as his upright knife, and she realizes that she’d gotten the question wrong. “You told him how I convinced you to spread your thighs for me.”

Darcy grimaces. (If there was one thing she could live without, it was the blunt, indelicate way he spoke to her. Darcy can swear up a storm like the best of them, but when it comes to talking about sex when sex wasn’t happening? Wasn't her schtick.)

“Yes,” she replies, and purposefully doesn’t elaborate.

Barnes, by now used to the little rebellions she employed against him, gives her a little smirk. “And what did you say?”

Darcy plasters a similar smirk on her face. “That you ambushed me in my room, threw me up against the wall and kissed me.”

The knife tilts and falls, and there’s a small part of her that thinks _it’s not fair_ , the way he doesn’t even _think_ about catching it, just _does_ and so easily and fancily too, his finger sliding up the side and flipping it over his knuckles before snapping his hand around the handle before it can part from his hand. It’s not fair because she finds it hot, because she can appreciate a good show and good shows sometimes make her pulse from between her legs, and that? That was _definitely_ a good show.

The majority of her, however, is smug, because the way Barnes sits up abruptly, the way his face shifts into obvious surprise? They tell her that she’s caught him off-guard, something she’s only ever done while naked before, and she makes a mental note to never throw out her fading college shirt and shorts and panties, maybe even have it framed to mark the occasion.

“You… told him the truth,” he finishes, the usually disinterested tone he uses on her replaced with something… appreciative? Admiring? Approving? Darcy feels something wiggle in her chest at the idea of—

 _No_.

She shuts down that line of thought immediately and fights off whatever it was she’s feeling, reminding herself of what _really_ happened during that confrontation.

“I never lie,” she lies, returning to her tablet.

She hears Barnes lie back, his heavy gaze never leaving her, and before she even notices doing it, her legs have already parted, one holding still to keep her tablet upright while the other starts swaying to relieve the pressure building between her legs.

It doesn’t help _at all_.

“Steve wants to watch me fuck you.”

Her leg stutters in its rhythm, her belly clenching as she feels the familiar, if currently-phantom sensation of Barnes inside her while Steve watches them.

She forces herself to roll her eyes. “Steve _always_ wants to watch us,” she says. “And if he got his way, then I’d only be wearing _your_ hands on my body.” ( _That_ had surprised her, truth be told, not just because Steve wanted to see _them_ , but because she hadn’t thought that Barnes would even want to _touch_ her, much less leave something _lasting_ of him on her.)

“…in the ass.”

Her swaying leg visibly twitches upward at the idea, and the burn she’s feeling suddenly doubles at the imagery that pops into her head, of Barnes sliding in and Steve touching her—

“It’s one of his fondest little fantasies,” he adds, and the idea in her head clicks shut and opens into a new scene, because if it was a _fantasy_ —

Then he wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t be allowed to, not during the first time. Steve was always at his best when faced with new experiences he wanted, but could only watch because they told him he can’t join in, and the wonderful part of _that?_

 _He gets off on it anyway_.

Gets off on _just watching_ them, as if the sight of them fires him up so much he just _bursts_. Darcy remembers that first night with Barnes very fondly, because Steve had finished right along with them, staining the seat of his chair and the underside of the table and the floor between his feet while his hands never left the tabletop.

She promptly wonders if it’ll happen again when they do _this_.

“So when do you want my dick in your ass, Lewis?” Barnes asks after a moment, and she shoots him glare, a little irritated that he already knew she’d agree.

( _Tonight_ , she wants to answer straight away, _tonight, I want it tonight, I want to watch him watch you do that to me tonight, ughhh, fuck!)_

*

They ambush him a week after he confesses to Bucky, and in retrospect, he should’ve seen it coming. Arriving.

Darcy had been walking funny _all day_ , claiming that her leg had cramped up on her that morning, and Bucky had been downright smug every time they saw her, though Steve had put that down to last night’s shenanigans. He really should’ve seen through Darcy’s flimsy excuse (okay, not so flimsy, orgasms were serious business in here) for her late night visit, two new toys in hand.

He should’ve known there was a third.

When her chest moves less than an inch from his face, Steve takes the opportunity to slide his nose over her nipple, his little bit of revenge for today’s mischiefs, so to speak, and earns himself a squeak for his small tease. He grins, pleased, and then flinches when she pokes him just below the rib, right where he was ticklish.

“Stop that,” Darcy tells him as she moves on, and he moans as her hands wrap around him, one pumping slowly and the other massaging gently. “Bad Steve. Naughty Steve. I should stop jerking you off for that.”

“A little more forward, doll.” Darcy obeys, knees pressing against Steve’s shoulders. “And get that ring on him. He ain’t comin’ ‘til we say so.”

Steve protests futilely as Darcy laughs, and he feels the thoughtfully-warmed metal slide over him, soft hands arranging him into position before clicking the lock into place. He moans at the snug fit, and then speaks a muffled curse as Darcy suddenly takes him into her mouth.

“Good girl,” Bucky says as he moves into position behind her, his right hand slicking himself up while his metal fingers reach out to toy with the black handle peeking from between her cheeks. “D’you think Steve feels a bit like this?” he asks, moving the handle around, and Darcy releases him with an audible pop.

“Oh my, _ngh_ , _god_ ,” she gasps, then returns some of her attention back to him. “So goo’,” she says with an almost full mouth, the vibrations of her words only adding to the buildup boiling inside him, and then she draws back completely and turns her head to look at Bucky, wriggling her hips. “C’mon, Barnes, more, I want more, I wanna come already, just once before we start, fuck my c—”

Bucky’s hand slaps at her left cheek with a loud _SMACK!_ that makes her skin ripple at the impact, and she flinches and cries out before putting her mouth back on him, her hand sliding over him as she sucks just a little lower, making him roll his hips down involuntarily, trying to get her back around him. “Don’t be greedy, Lewis,” Bucky teases, gently kneading the quickly reddening flesh. “You’ll get my dick when I want you to get it, and an orgasm when I want you to scream yourself hoarse.”

She hums, almost sob-like, and once again, the vibrations skitter over Steve’s skin and flies straight back to his erection. He fails to keep still, seeking more friction.

“He’s getting impatient,” she tells Bucky, Steve giving a muffled grunt of frustration as she pulls away. “Trying to find my mouth again, aren’t you, Steve?”

“That so?” Bucky asks, smirking at Steve. “Why don’t you give it to him, doll? Wrap those pretty lips around his cock, let him fuck your face a little.”

Steve feels her shake as she hisses a quiet “ _Jesus”_ before obeying, and he groans and bucks into her, watching his strength so that he doesn’t hurt her. She hums a little and bobs her head, and Steve nearly closes his eyes to savor the feel of her, but then sees Bucky moving, metal fingers tugging the toy out of her with a soft but audible _pop_ that has her rolling her body back, her strangled response making Steve groan in pleasure.

“Goddamn,” he says appreciatively, spreading Darcy’s cheeks. “Move down a bit, Lewis, I want Steve to see this.”

Her wonderful mouth leaves him, but the sight Bucky shows him more than makes up for it.

“Look at that,” he tells Steve unnecessarily. “Such a pretty pink asshole, isn’t it, Steve? Tell her how pretty it looks all stretched like this.”

Bucky waits until Steve finishes his sentence—the words incomprehensible behind the ball in his mouth—before angling his body a bit to the side and bending down. Steve moans enviously as he watches Bucky bury his face between her cheeks and hum, making Darcy yell in surprise.

“Jealous, punk?” Bucky asks, biting at her left cheek hard enough to leave an imprint before turning to look down at Steve. “You jealous of me right now, watching me eat her little ass out?” Steve moans and nods in confirmation, feeling delicious sympathy pangs rushing up his spine. Bucky hums. “She cleaned herself out for this, did you know?” he says conversationally, and Darcy gives her little guilty squeak, a tell that verified the truth of Bucky’s revelation. “You should’ve seen the color she turned this morning when I told her I wanted to fuck her ass with my tongue. Practically ran out the door and came back all pinked and clean, that little toy in her ass.”

“Fuck you, Barnes, that’s not what happened and you know it,” she denies, the words ringing false in Steve’s ears.

“Says you,” Bucky smirks. “And yes,” he adds, then brings his hand down on her left cheek, right over the imprint of his teeth, “I _will_ fuck you,” he says as Darcy jerks and whimpers and strains forward and back, as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to get away or wanted to get another slap. “I’ll fuck right into your little ass. You’ll like it, Lewis, that’s a promise. Isn’t that right, Steve? Won’t she like my cock in her ass?” he asks rhetorically, meeting Steve’s gaze. “Tell her how much you like it when I fuck you.”

Steve moans affirmatively and obliges him as Darcy releases a ragged breath and sags into the bed between his legs, her breasts coincidentally falling to cradle him. Unable to help himself, Steve pushes up against her, hips circling twice and easing the frustration in his gut before she manages to push herself back up, far enough that even the tip of him can’t reach her.

“Bad Steve!” she snaps. “Trying to fuck my tits, trying to _cheat_ —”

“Naughty Steve,” Bucky laughs, grinning at him again before leaning down to suck and trail his tongue over Steve’s stretched lips.

He could almost convince himself he could taste Darcy on that devious tongue.

“I suppose we shouldn’t keep him waiting much longer then,” Bucky tells Darcy as he straightens back up. “On your hands, Lewis, you said wanted Steve to have a close-up of this. You got a good view down there, Steve?” Steve moans in affirmation, eyes already glued to the wet flesh above him and wishing he had permission to break free and take the gag off and slant his mouth over it. “All right. You tell me if it’s too much, doll,” he adds.

“Yes,” she promises breathily, the puff of it skimming across Steve’s skin.

“Steve,” Bucky says, hands parting Darcy’s pale cheeks wide, “don’t look away.”

(As if he would.)

*

What he can see of Lewis’s skin breaks out in goose bumps, and he sees her hands moving to grip Steve’s hips tight while she presses her face to his hard stomach, muffling the long, drawn out moan that stutters and reaches high and low notes as he fucks into her, pulling back and pushing in. He holds back a groan, bringing a little bit of the Winter Soldier out to keep control over himself, to keep her from realizing just how good he thought she felt, his own quiet rebellion against _her_.

In bed, at sex, he was the one who made her shake and scream and sag into the bed, limp as a noodle. It will _not_ be the other way around.

Below her, he hears Steve groaning appreciatively, which tells him Steve’s watching this with all the focus he can muster, and just over her head, Steve’s choking cock stood proud amidst the curls of brown hair that spilled across Steve’s hips, the remnants of Lewis’s saliva and Steve’s still-leaking spunk making it shine even under the dim lights. He wants to both look and not look at it, his gut clenching as he imagines getting his mouth around Steve’s dick while pounding Lewis’s ass into the bed, until he and Steve are fucked out, just enough that Lewis has to help herself, maybe on her own, maybe on his or Steve’s fingers or bodies.

If there was one thing he liked about her, it was how her desperation for release made hi—

He shuts that down _fast_ , getting a hold of his thoughts once more and, just a little spitefully, reaches down, his hand, slick with the lube she’d brought, sliding easily over the hard nub he feels hiding just inside the folds of her pussy. She cries out, but it’s not enough, it’s not the stuttering little sound she makes when he assaults her clit, so he slides his fingers up her slit to expose the sensitive bud.

 _Ah, there it is_ , he thinks, and then pinches and rolls the little bundle of nerves between his fingers, fast and a little hard, the friction almost non-existent because of how slippery both her pussy and his hand were. Lewis gives that choked little noise he’s gotten to know well and stiffens up, and he promptly wishes he or Steve could see the look on her face right now.

“Slow!” she chokes out as her as she clamps down on his dick, almost making him moan as well and distracting him from his previous thought. “Barnes, fuck, not so fast, please, _please!"_ she shrieks when he doesn’t listen, and the alarm in her voice has him snapping back to attention, quickly regaining a hold of his emotions and slowing his motions. She exhales a little sob and relaxes once more, allowing him to slide a little deeper. And then she starts crooning again, and continues to do so until he’s all the way in.

The sight of him seated to the hilt and the snug and underused feel of her around his cock has him exhaling, quietly enough that she couldn’t possibly hear his moment of weakness. Steve isn’t unaffected either; he grunts and murmurs into the gag, his words wet and demanding but mostly muffled, and he has to give Lewis credit for thinking ahead because Steve, although not as mouthy as he or Lewis are, knows them well enough to know what words to use to provoke the both of them into a frenzy, as they’d learned during that first night.

He feels a… feels _smugness_ (as Lewis had described when she saw his face as he felt the emotion) as his eyes watch Steve’s dick twitch (in envy, as Lewis also described), and the urge to speak grips him.

“Such a good girl,” he says, smoothing his hands over her cool, goose-pimpled back. “Isn’t she, Steve? Tell the lady how good she is, takin’ my dick all the way in her ass.”

Steve does, the words too muffled to be recognizable, but he hears enough of the syllables to be satisfied with it. Lewis hums against Steve’s skin in acknowledgement, the muscles she’d unconsciously kept tense starting to uncoil, and he waits until she’d relaxed enough around him to open his mouth.

“Whaddaya think, doll?” he asks. “Ever gonna take Steve’s dick? Hm? Let that pretty pussy wrap around his cock while mine’s in your sweet ass?” Steve groans at the bait he’d set, his hips aborting the instinctive jerk that might’ve dislodged the woman lying on top of him, and for a moment, he wishes he’d seen the expression on Steve’s face.

But the effect his suggestion has on Lewis is _devastating;_ her eyes snap open at the question, her body clamping around him reflexively before rolling up, the reaction starting from her hips and spreading down to her toes and all the way up her spine, her hair flipping onto her back from the force of her tossing her head back as she exhales harshly, as if he’d punched her in the gut instead of dropped a dirty little idea into her pretty head.

“Hohmygod,” she says breathlessly, sounding every bit the wanton woman he’s been bedding for three months, and he grins, very pleased with her loss of control over herself. “Hohmygod, Barnes, hanh…”

“Hm?” he asks as he pushes back a groan of pleasure at feeling her ass squeezing his dick even tighter, feeling his balls tingle before he slams his own control back into place. “Something you wanted, doll?”

“We—” she hiccups and stammers. “We’ll talk about that l-late—” She cuts herself off with a low groan when he shifts just a little, and it harmonizes beautifully with Steve’s jealous grunt. “Just— Just move. _Move_ , I need—” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but he’s been in her position before and knows _exactly_ what she needs.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he repeats, her comfort coming to mind automatically by now.

“ _Yes_ ,” she stresses, and the eagerness evident in that single word makes him smirk as triumph surges through his veins.

“All right, I’m pulling out. Ready?”

“Yes!” she growls in annoyance, and promptly spasms around him as he pulls his cock half-way out her body. “Mmmmh,” she moans low, nuzzling her cheek against Steve’s stomach, and Steve rolls his hips up carefully, just enough to sway his dick and bring it back to Lewis’s attention. “Mm,” she chuckles, “looks like someone’s getting jealous.” He hears her plant a kiss on Steve’s abdomen. “Are you jealous, Steve baby?”

“Mmhm,” Steve sounds from beneath her.

“Of me or Bucky?” she asks.

“Bngth,” comes the muffled reply.

“Both,” Lewis coos, then does something that has Steve jerking up to her, dick bouncing enough that it would’ve fallen onto his stomach if he wasn’t wearing Lewis’s gift. “Mm, you wanna be in our place, huh? Wanna fuck me in the ass again? But this time Bucky’s here to fuck you too. D'you think it’ll be different from when he fucks you while you fuck my pu _ssy!”_ she squeals as he pushes back in, fast and a little rough, and he clamps down on a laugh at her reaction, focusing on the way the skin on her back prickles once more, starting from the firm globes of her butt to the nape of her neck.

Steve has never shown a desire to hide his reactions from her—he _laughs_.

Lewis either laughs as well or sobs in frustration, either way, she slaps weakly at Steve’s hip and says, “Shut your face, Steven.” Steve doesn’t listen, his body shaking with mirth, cock swaying ever so slightly, and it draws her attention, obviously, because she wraps her hand around it and strokes once.

Steve shuts up and whimpers.

He grins at their antics, then swallows back his own laugh again and asks, “Still okay?” as he pulls out, this time until just the head of his dick is inside her.

Lewis whimpers as well, her elbows wobbling. “God, so empty,” she whines, “please, please, come back inside me.”

“Come back inside you?” he taunts her, trying to shake away the unexpected shyness. “You mean fuck your asshole?”

“Yes!” she hisses just under Steve’s loud and almost audible cursing. “Yes, fuck my asshole, Barnes, c’mon, _fuck it_ ,” she half-snarls enthusiastically, making him grin at the sudden comeback. “Fuck it so Steve can _see_ , let him see how you give it to me, how you give it to my ass— _God!”_ she yells when he surges in, quick and full before pulling out and pushing in— “ _Fuck!”_ she cries, her arms giving out on her. “Oh _god_ , ohgod, yes, _yes_ , just like that, just fuck me, I want you to fuck me, I—”

She starts to babble, one of the things he’s learned means she’s losing control, and making her lose it completely was a goal he never failed to meet, ranking just below making Steve scream his name.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he hisses back, struggling to keep his pace the way she wanted it while enjoying the thrill and encouragement he could hear from Steve’s moans and grunts and muffled words, “that’s right, Lewis, m’gonna fuck you right, gonna fuck you open, make you take it, make you take my cock and come on it, make your ass squeeze around me while you—”

He cuts himself off with a snarl as she takes his words as an invitation, bearing down like she’s trying to push his dick out or choke it, and that draws the pleasure he’s holding back forward, splintering his attention between the coil of tension tightening in his balls and keeping up a stream of words to make up for her incoherence to Steve and holding on to his control and—

“ _HanhgodJames_ —”

(“ _Christ_ ,” Bucky Barnes says, slipping up and honestly not even noticing as his eyes fall briefly shut, his name on her lips and the slick and hot and tight feel of her getting to him, and he reaches around her waist to slide his hands around her lovely, heavy breasts and yank her up so that his mouth can find the flesh of her shoulder and sink his teeth in, and he thinks _Min_ —)

*

Darcy doesn’t expect him to pull her up off Steve, his hands squeezing at her breasts as he bites down on her shoulder. Between that and the new angle and the abrupt increase in speed and strength of his thrusts inside her, it doesn't take long until she's tossing her head back and screaming, loud and long, as the world closes down on her for one terrifying moment.

And then her orgasm bursts through her with the violence of a tornado, the rush of adrenaline translating into pleasure as she feels her body pulse and flutter and squeeze around the hard muscle driving in and out of her. She vaguely recalls swearing, vaguely remembers pushing and moving and rolling in an effort to keep that thick flesh pressed deep so that her body can try to make it a part of her, but the intensity of her release is the only thing she’s truly conscious of.

And then—

“ _FUCK!”_ James yells into her shoulder, his hands squeezing her breasts tightly as he finally sinks himself hard and fast and fully inside her and goes still, moaning and shuddering as a foreign, familiar heat bursts and pulses within her.

Darcy doesn’t even _realize_ she does it, but she eggs him on, telling him to give him all he’s got to offer, and how full she felt, and how well he’d done, and how she couldn’t wait to see the gifts he’d left on her skin, how she’ll remember this moment every time she’ll look in the mirror, how she wishes his marks on her wouldn’t fade so she couldn’t possibly forget—

And all the while she’s pushing back into him, the smoldering fire within her stirring back to a roaring blaze, so she tugs at his wrists when he sags against her and (she will be surprised at this later on) directs him onto the bed. He takes her with him, never even pulling out, and Darcy slips two fingers into the hollow space of her body as she uses his slowly softening length to help quench the flames burning through her.

Her fingers make her feel _better_ , so much _fuller_. Her back just arches up and her hips tilt down on their own, seeking more without her needing to tell them to, but that’s okay, because this is good, so good, this is _so good_ , so fulfilling, it’s building her right back up. His earlier suggestion of her taking Steve in as well flits up from out of nowhere, and it has her turning her attention to Steve, who's watching her with wide, hungry eyes even after reaching his own climax, his stomach and hips and thighs painted with streaks of milky fluid, his still-standing erection weeping what was left.

She stares at his thick length and can’t even conceive how much fuller she could possibly feel if she lets them take her that way, when just James and her own slim fingers already make her feel like she’s about to burst, when Steve himself is just a bit thicker where James is a bit longer and the two of them occupying her body might not just fill her up, but also t—

Darcy doesn't even realize she shuts her eyes and arches up and screams and claws a hand at what firm, foreign flesh she could reach while burying her fingers in deep. All she knows is that her body has seized up and ruptured into a million, billion pieces for the second time, this time happily milking the length still inside her body. She thinks she made a racket, but she can’t really remember anything beyond the pleasure rushing through her body.

And when she's done, she sags almost lifelessly onto James, unaware that he had to catch her, and lies there basking for so long in the powerful aftershocks thrumming through her trembling, shuddering body that they both have to rouse her to make sure she was still alive.

“Darcy, sweetheart,” Steve says quietly, brushing her hair back before cupping her face and turning her to look at him, “are you okay?”

No one will blame her if all she manages is an itty bitty sound.

James slides his hands over her sensitive breasts, making her twitch. “There she is,” he says just as softly. “Lewis, come on, talk to us. Talk to Steve.”

She takes in a shuddering gasp. “I—”

“You what, doll?” he prods. “C’mon, tell us.”

“I don’t—” she shuts her eyes and waits out the shudder that travels through her before turning to look at him. “I don’t think I can—”

“It’s okay,” James tells her, pressing his lips to her left breast and nuzzling it. Darcy twitches _hard_ at the sensation. “You don’t have to. I was just buildin’ you up, sweetheart.”

Darcy doesn’t notice him go still, body growing tense beside her, because Steve has pressed his lips against hers chastely and was now looking her in the eyes with that soft, kind gaze she’d fallen for. “You were perfect,” he tells her. “You were gorgeous, and wonderful. Thank you, sweetheart.”

She sucks in a stuttering breath and tries to smile. “Anytime.”

(“Seriously,” she tells them later once she’d recovered, “ _any.time_.”)

*

“…”

“…”

“…is it just me,” Tony says just after Darcy leaves the room, “or is Lewis looking particularly well-fucked today?”

Steve watches Bucky lift his mug to his face, and only his unique perspective in the matter lets him see the smugness in the lines of his soulmate’s body.

“When does she even have time to meet him?” Thor grumbles around a mouthful of eggs.

“I don’t know if I’m jealous of the guy or of her,” Tony muses.

Jane nearly chokes on her coffee.

( _Bucky_ almost chokes on his cocoa.)

*

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…you look very relaxed today, James.”

He glares at her wide, knowing grin before stalking away from the two of them.

“You’d think he’d be in a better mood after—”

“Shut up, Barton.”

“You know you need to get her bite treated, don’t you?”

“ _Shut up_ , Natalia.”

His scowl deepens as he hears their giggles bounce off the walls and reminds himself he can’t break their kneecaps because he’s reformed now. And then he pushes down the insistent memory of the utterly blissed out expression on _her_ face for the nth time that day and heads off to find Steve.

(Steve is more than happy to help him, but it's the memory of _that look **he** put on her face_ and his voice calling her _sweetheart_  that pushes him over the edge.)

*

“…”

“…”

“…stop judging me.”

He holds his gloved hands up. “No judging,” he replies. “This is a no judgment zone. Promise.”

“You had an _I’m judging you so hard right now_ silent look thing going on.”

“If you replace the second word of that sentence, I’m pretty sure it would describe how your night clearly went.”

“Bruce Banner, are you sassing me right now?”

“Of course not, Darcy. I’m only expressing my relief that you finally came to me for help.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t, seeing as you caught me rooting through the medicine cabinet and just tackled me from out of nowhere,” she deadpans.

“I may have misread the situation a little,” he admits, “but you should know that I only want to make sure you’re okay.”

She softens. “Just put the cream on me so I can get—” she starts to grumble before cutting herself off and pointing a finger at him. “No.”

He grins. “You just keep walking into them.”

“Bite me.” She winces. “Fuck.”

“That’s obviously what you said last night.”

_Grrrrrrh, Darcy smash!_

(She realizes belatedly she said that out loud when Bruce puts a hand over his face and _laughs_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what I mean? SEE WHAT I MEAN???
> 
> On some level, I cannot wait to see your comments. On another level, brain goes "eep!" at the thought of seeing your comments.
> 
> Just so you know, my cheeks? SO RED.
> 
> This was supposed to be me explaining how Bucky disabled the panic alarms and convinced Darcy he really was inviting her to a threesome with Steve, but AS USUAL, these three just TOOK OVER MY FINGERS.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings. And sex. And trying not to show those feelings while having sex.
> 
> And, y'know, _failing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Rainne! HERE YOU GO, MY FELLOW PERVERT. MORE PORN WITH PLOT!
> 
> Because apparently, that's all brain wants to write right now. I promise I'm trying to write the _Bucky goes ninja on the panic button and convinces Darcy to sex him and Steve_ thing, I already have an outline for it, but _brain_ and freaking _Darcy_ conspired against me, and then Steve and Bucky joined them.
> 
> I'm sorry to everyone reading 'are you the one? (yep, that was me)', but I'm not yet happy with Pepper's chapter, so that's gonna take me a while.
> 
> Oh, and Darcy's freaking out at the first part, so excuse the mess in her head.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> There's a little (lot?) Pavlovian psychology thing going on in this chapter, particularly in Darcy and Bucky's POVs.
> 
> The bad "R" word is also mentioned, but is not described or condoned.
> 
> There's also elements of BDSM and power plays, plus a heavy-subtle reference to Darcy's psychological response to pain after her experience with HYDRA. I'm not trying to make her out as a pain-seeker; I'm just to emphasize that she doesn't have a normal response to physical stimulation anymore, not after what HYDRA did to her.
> 
> If you have issues with the above mentioned, please close this chapter down. OR, skip to the naughty bits, if that's what you, ahem, came for. *wink*

No one will blame her if they found out why she ran.

Well, not  _ran_ , per se.  _Retreated_ , yeah, that’s the word.

No one will blame her if they found out why she retreated. (That’s better. But is it really retreating if she does it when they’re already out of the room?)

The morning after The Butt Sex (shut up, it’s accurate, and totally downplays all the things that happened and need to be ignored), Darcy proceeds to [try and] put the whole ( _ugh so good when can we do it again want more want him to fuck me like that again **shut up brain jeezus**_ ) thing behind her.

She goes back to her room [toys in hand, cleans and dumps them in her nightstand drawer] and hops into the shower. She [winces as a streak of water slides over the deep bite on her shoulder, and then down her back to rush over the still-sensitive space between her butt cheeks. She tries to ignore them, ignore everything that reminds her of the night before, but the reminders on her body won’t let her do that, so she tries to soldier (hah!) on and just] shampoos her hair, lathers soap on her skin [but not between her legs because she’s afraid she’ll forget herself and sink to her knees and slip her fingers where she shouldn’t because it still aches] and then rinses off before patting herself dry [carefully, carefully because she still  _aches_ ].

And then she pulls on her clothes [the usual flats, the usual jacket, but she wears a dress—turtleneck, long-sleeved and slightly tight-fitting—for the first time since she became a resident-slash-employee in the tower, because she’s afraid that having something pressed up between her thighs will just make things  _worse_ ] and goes to the kitchen, where she finds Jane, Thor, Tony, Steve and ( _James **shut up brain**_ ) Barnes gathered around the island counter. She [tries not to look at  _him_ , but it’s impossible to miss the now-familiar feeling of him watching her as she] putters around the kitchen, fixing herself some toast [instead of the cereal she’d been planning on so she can escape the kitchen faster] and then waves at them as she leaves for Jane’s lab, eating along the way.

She knows as soon as she bends to sit that she will  _fail_  in her goal of forgetting last night’s events. Because sitting makes her  _ache_. Hell,  _walking_  makes her ache. It took everything she had to walk normally and stuff herself with bread just to keep what she’s feeling from showing on her face. She remembers the aftermath of the first time she took it where the sun don’t shine for Steve, so she knows that if she shows how much her body is  _feeling_  right now, Jane will be all up in her space again, worrying that she’d been raped. (Which, she hadn’t been. Everything was entirely consensual, and Steve had clearly known enough of the practice to make it not hurt her too much. But Jane, she just can’t get that getting bruised and a little achy after sex doesn’t always mean rape.)

What’s worse is that Darcy is the kind of person who just cannot sit still, so just as she manages to forget, she’ll shift, and then is promptly reminded all over again. Of the intensity, of the sensations, of Steve’s reaction, of _his_  words (oh god,  _his words_ ). She has to keep stopping her leg from bouncing to relieve the ache because it’s _not actually helping_ , and by ten o’clock, she can no longer ignore how slick she is, how hot and just  _aware_  of her body she feels. She has to stop herself from asking JARVIS where Steve and Barnes are, to not head back to her room to take care of the problem on her own, to stay here and  _be responsible_.

But that’s not her being responsible, that’s her being  _stubborn_ , and she eventually regrets her stubbornness, her decision to stay right where she is and try to work, because by lunchtime, she’s so goddamn wet she knows she’s soaked her dress, possibly even the seat. She tries  _so hard_  to dial back her arousal, but she just can’t stop  _moving_  and it just  _builds_  and  _builds,_ _hanh!_

She’s so goddamn frustrated, it makes her want to scream.

Until she asks JARVIS, Darcy had no idea how she got to her room, the whole trip a blur of heat and desperation and hanging on by a thread. But she gets herself there and drops to her knees beside the nightstand and  _of course_  she gets her hands on the black, medium-sized plug first.

Of course she does.

At that moment though, Darcy  _does not care_  what she has in her hand, she just slides it into her wet heat, crying out as she stretches around it and pushing it in until the flat base presses against her. She sinks lower on the floor, hands purchased on the nightstand as she bent both legs at the knee, turning and spreading them out until her thighs were pressing into the carpet, until the toy touched the ground and rubbed up at her.

She swears loudly, tossing her head back, and then she moves, rolling and grinding, but it’s not enough. It wasn’t enough. It was too short, too tapered, it didn’t reach deep into her, didn’t reach as far as she wanted it. It just stretched her wide, not deep, massaged her hard, but shallowly, and Darcy really did start crying then, begging to no one, begging to an empty room for something she feared she couldn’t reach until her hand hits the still-open drawer and she remembers that there are other toys in there.

She lifts up, roots around until she finds the biggest, longest she owned—a red, formerly-intimidating vibrator—and reaches down, exhaling heavily as she slips the other toy out with her free hand and slides the red one in. She moans, watching herself take it in, the sight only adding to the feel of it stretching her and reaching depths that satisfied the emptiness within her. She leans her head against the drawer, allowing it to slide shut until she could press her forehead to the nightstand and not topple over, and waits until she’d adjusted to its size, blinking down at the black plug still held by the hand she had on the ground.

_Whaddaya think, doll?_

She whimpers, unthinkingly squeezing down on the toy within her as the memory invades her mind, and she remembers  _wanting it_ , remembers snapping her head up to look at Steve’s proud, purpling red length and thinking of ways she could shimmy down there without dislodging James and thinking  _do it_ ,  _take him in_ ,  _see how good he’ll feel_.

 _Let that pretty pussy wrap around his cock while mine’s in your sweet ass_.

Darcy exhales, swearing, her eyes never leaving the plug, and doesn’t even realize she’s rocking her hips and sinking into the mindset she goes into when she’s with Steve, with James, too busy imagining that she can take it, take the little plug and slide it into the space not occupied by her big red toy. She imagines bringing it back to their room later that night, imagines handing it to James and straddling Steve, imagines feeling James slide the plug into her ass before helping Steve slide his dick inside her pussy, her cunt taking his cock in, feeling it stretch her wider than the toy she has right now. She remembers the sensations the plug sent through her when James toyed with it, imagines feeling them again while Steve was fucking into her, and—

 _Why imagine it?_  she thinks, a little delirious from the thrill of her fantasy, and before she can  _really_  think about it, she has the plug angled behind her, her free hand yanking her dress up over her ass.

She cries out at the easy slide, still feeling too sensitive, but she’d tilted her head up and leaned her body back, so her weight carries her down onto it, the plug sinking in, fast and sharp, without too much help or difficulty.

“Ungh,” she exhales, jarred and shocked breathless at the sudden stretch, the feeling of something firm slipping into her, the noticeable closing sensation when the biggest part moves past her entrance and lets her ass clamp down on the slim stem.

And then she comes, the surprise proving enough to push her body past the line of need and into relief. Her world closes down, a high-pitched whining ringing in her ears, pleasure pulsing sharply through her, thrumming and humming and lasting just long enough for her to truly feel satisfied.

Darcy slides onto her back, lying flat on the carpeted floor, slowly becoming aware of herself again, aware of more than just the rush and want and fire inside her. “Jesus Christ,” she says aloud, panting, thinking she should just lie there for the rest of the day, and then at some point do it again. She could still feel herself fluttering around them, the toys, and it. felt.  _awesome_. Ja—  _Barnes_  might’ve been a bit thicker and longer than the vibrator, but her fingers had nothing on the plug, on the way it stretched her out and pressed against the toy through the skin separating the openings on her lower body.

She hadn’t  _expected_  this. Hadn’t expected the way she just  _needed_  and  _burned_ , hadn’t foreseen how affected she would be by last night’s events.

How could she? She hadn’t  _experienced_  it before. Steve had made her feel tender, and yes,  _achy_  afterwards, but not…  _this_. Not  _horny_. Not half-delirious with need. Well, not the morning after taking her backdoor virginity anyway.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was because Steve was her first, and she hadn’t known what to expect, not really. She’d offered herself to him in the heat of the moment, after all. But this time, she had prepped herself, had read up on it, had bought the plug, had readied her body for it, and maybe that’s what made all the difference, what led her to this… situation.

Now free from the frustrated desperation that had gripped her, Darcy giggles, a slightly wet hand coming up to cover her mouth reflexively, feeling better already, though she moans when the short laugh has her clamping and contracting around the objects still inside her body, and she quickly presses her slick knuckles to her eye and forehead, as if it would keep her brain from shorting out again, and maybe also because she was still reeling from the shock of it all.

After several moments of just recovering, she moves her hand higher and, heedless of the moisture, cards her fingers through her hair as she looks at the ceiling. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis?” he asks, sounding easy and normal, as if he had missed her losing control and going out of her mind and getting off on the floor beside her bed. But that was JARVIS, and his unflappable voice was just what she needed to gain a little more steadiness in her voice.

Exhaling, she says, “I need to see the footage from the lab and… wherever else I was before I came… before this moment,” she amends, making a face at where she’d unwittingly stopped talking.

“Of course, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS says. “If you could direct your attention to the window.”

Darcy turns and pushes herself up, moaning as she bears down around the toys while climbing onto the bed. But it feels good to have them there, and she doesn’t want to take them out just yet, so she doesn’t, instead letting her teeth worry her bottom lip when the toys don’t even budge despite the slick slide she had going on  _down there_. She stretches out on the mattress slowly, relishing the idea that she had filled herself up like this, and settles in to watch herself on screen.

She was glad to see that none of what she’d felt at the time showed during her time in the lab, and her hurrying through the halls—the sleeves of her jacket tied around her waist to hide the wet spot on her dress—didn’t really indicate that she was rushing to get herself off. And, though a little embarrassing in retrospect, her solo happy time was kinda hot, even if the angle didn’t show much.

The things she was saying though?  _That_  got to her.

“Oh  _fuck_  why can’t I come?” her voice asked, filtering through the speakers. “ _God_ , fuck, I need it, please, please,  _c’mon_ ,” she snarls. “God _damn it_ , you’re useless!  _Fuck!”_

“Jesus,” she breathes, biting her lip and realizing what a bad idea it was to watch this.

“ _Mm, yeah_ ,” her video-self moaned, sinking into the red vibrator, “ _much_  better. So much better,  _fuck_.”

“ _God!”_  she’d yelled when the plug sank into her. “God,  _fuckfuckfuck! Fuck!”_  And then she yelled incoherently, her entire body moving and rolling and jerking, completely immersed in the orgasm coursing through her.

“Holy shit,” she breathes hoarsely, unexpectedly entranced with herself. She doesn’t even think of how ridiculous she looked, the pleasure she was watching herself experience too recent and vivid for her to notice anything else but what  _that_  felt like.

Darcy isn’t aware of reaching down until she feels the vibrator slip in and out, and she moans as the fire reignites in her belly. She drags herself upright, leans back into her pillows, and drives the toy into her while grinding the other against her mattress.

(She comes out of her room freshly-showered and completely sated, the fire within her extinguished, but also with a tired, cramping arm and  _his_  bite twinging on her shoulder.)

*

“She’s not coming.”

Steve looks up from where he was pacing. “You don’t know that.”

Bucky sighs. “JARVIS, could you tell us where Lewis is?”

“Miss Lewis is in her room, Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS answers. “She is currently occupied, I’m afraid, and has requested that visitors be turned away.”

“Visitors,” Bucky echoes, his face blank. “You mean me and Steve?”

“I mean everyone, sir,” JARVIS replies. “Doctor Foster has enlisted her services. Miss Lewis is accomplishing her goals from her room.”

Steve relaxes, because this wouldn’t be the first time she had to work overtime and not pay them a visit, and looks at Bucky, who shrugs. “Told you,” he says.

He rolls his eyes and slinks into the bed. “You don’t think she’s avoiding us, do you?” he asks.

Bucky smirks at him. “You heard her, punk,” he answers. “Anytime, she said. So no, I don’t think she’s avoiding us.” He slides a hand up Steve’s shoulder to cup his cheek. “Guess you’ll have to make do with me.”

Steve smiles. “I don’t mind that at all,” he says, leaning up for a kiss.

Three days go by before she comes back, and by then, even Bucky has succumbed to worry as well. He tells Steve he thinks it was because of his suggestion that she let them fuck her at the same time, but explains that it had only been part of the show they were giving him, that he didn’t expect her to do it if she didn’t want to. Steve knows that already, but maybe Darcy doesn’t, so they set off to get her alone and try to explain.

But getting to Darcy when she was alone proves ridiculously difficult. She spends her days in the laboratory with Jane, and to Jane’s knowledge, he, Bucky and Darcy are only acquaintances, their desire to keep their relationship a secret causing them to remain slightly aloof when they were outside their bedrooms. And when she wasn’t with Jane, she was with Thor or Tony or Bruce. And when she wasn’t with any of them, she was in her room, which JARVIS kept them out of despite his and Bucky’s repeated requests.

They both try to gather information from the others, Jane and Thor most of all, but both only say that Darcy had looked distracted a lot and wouldn’t tell them why, which didn’t help at all. Bucky was frustrated and worried that he’d caused this, and Steve had no idea how to calm him down or convince him otherwise. Also, he  _missed_  Darcy, and he was worried that this distance would damage their relationship, unbalanced as it already felt.

So when she finally skulks into their room on what would’ve been the fourth night of her absence, Steve was understandably both excited and angry.

“Darcy!” he exclaims, rolling off the bed and onto his feet.

“Hey,” Darcy replies, normal as you please, and, as if she hadn’t spent three nights away from them, leans up to plant her usual ‘hello’ kiss on his cheek. “Ugh, wow, I almost forgot how handsome you are,” she adds, and he responds yanking her up and slanting his lips over hers, lifting her by the hips before striding back to the bed and dumping her there. She lets out a sharp cry, her eyes widening in shock, but he pushes his concern away in favor of fixing this sudden distance she’d put between herself and him and Bucky.

Steve braces his arms on either side of her and crowds into her. “Why have you been avoiding us?” he asks, and it’s clear that he’s surprised both Bucky and Darcy with his manhandling and his anger. But while Darcy’s face twists apologetically, it also flushes red, her eyes dilating, her breathing growing shallower. Steve almost shakes his head in disbelief at the realization that she was getting turned on.

“I wasn’t,” she tells him, her voice wavering as she shifts on the mattress and then raises her hands tentatively to touch him, smoothing her palms over his shoulders when he doesn’t reject her gesture. “I wasn’t, I promise. I was just busy. Jane gave me tons of stuff to do and I was—”

He presses his lips together, knowing full well that it was a lie. “Jane hasn’t given you anything new to do that needs you to work overtime,” he interrupts her. “Lie to me again, and I’ll put you over Bucky’s lap and let him spank you until you come in self-defense.”

“Fuck,” Bucky gapes at him as Darcy exhales heavily, her pupils blowing wider at the (empty, Steve acknowledges, because he would never do that to her without her permission, and never to really hurt her) threat.

“Now,” Steve continues, “why. were you. avoiding us?”

Darcy turns completely red, lines of embarrassment etching themselves on her face, but to her credit, she doesn’t look away from him, and, as usual, she gives as good as she got. “My ass felt sensitive all day after Bucky fucked me,” she says, and Steve finds himself snapping his mouth shut in surprise. “I couldn’t work, couldn’t focus. I was so wet I soaked my dress through and had to run back to my room. I was so desperate to come I didn’t even bother with the bed, just fell to the floor and fucked myself right there. And then I had JARVIS pull up the video and I made myself come three times watching me fuck myself.”

“ _Darcy_ ,” Steve breathes, torn between hanging onto his temper and leaning in to kiss her again, and somehow convince her to show them those videos.

“I wasn’t avoiding you two,” she says, her fingers curling into Steve’s tense shoulders before sliding down his chest towards his pants. “I really was catching up on work. Jane gave me a ton of data to encode, but I’ve just been so very distracted. Every—” his belt buckle snaps open, “—single—” the metal button pops out, “—day,” his zipper goes down, loud in the ensuing silence.

Steve swallows, feeling her hands pull his pants open. “You lying to me, sweetheart?” he asks, despite knowing she was telling the truth. He can feel himself relaxing already, assured that she hadn’t been trying to avoid them.

But still, why the three-day absence?

“You want a lie?” Lewis asks, sliding one hand slowly into his underwear while the other moves back up. “I’ll give you a lie.” She directs Steve’s head to turn to the left, allowing him to look at Bucky, whose expression was a mix of amusement and arousal, his pants already tented tellingly. And then Darcy delivers the best possible lie she’s ever told him.

“I will  _never_  want you in my pussy while Bucky fucks my ass.”

He isn’t even aware of the hurt little noise that escapes him, or that his face twists with  _want_ , but he does know he shudders at the image she’s placed in his brain—that she’s practically telling him  _will_  happen one day—as his hips pump forward, her hand bringing his cock out to play.

Bucky looks just as surprised and delighted and his smirk grew quick and wide on his face. “Get your hand off his dick, Lewis,” he tells her as he straightens his legs out, “and let Steve put you on my lap.”

“Bucky,” Steve gasps, trying to convey his apprehension and hide his interest, but Darcy chuckles and holds her arms up expectantly at him. He groans. “Dear God, you two,” he says, picking her up by her hips and lining her up until her belly presses against the top of Bucky’s right thigh. She lifts her ass up, like she was presenting it to them, and shoots Steve a bright smirk, which helps him relax further about the issue.

“Come on, punk,” Bucky says, smoothing his hands over her back and thigh, “show me how hard I need to spank this pretty little liar’s ass.”

Darcy snorts, and then screams when Steve’s hand comes down on her left cheek, a little harder than he would make it if he were slapping her bare skin so that the sensation can travel through her jeans. He jerks back at the intensity of her cry, not expecting her to react so strongly. “ _Holy fuck_ ,” she exhales, trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he says, thinking he’d underestimated his strength again.

“Nonono,” she breathes, pushing her ass up pointedly and groaning. “A little lighter, but don’t stop.” Bucky’s hand comes down to slap her right cheek. “Fuck,” she groans, fingers digging into the sheets under her hands. “Yes, like that.”

“Didn’t know you were so hot for a spankin’, doll,” Bucky says, rubbing his palms over both her firm globes, before smacking her right one three times in rapid succession, drawing a shrill keening noise from her throat.

“ _Yes!”_  she cries, and Steve has to grip himself tight, the sight and the sounds starting to get to him.

 _Lord_ , she isn’t even  _naked_  yet.

“Buck,” he rumbles, “let her take her clothes off.”

Darcy laughs breathily. “Take them off yourself,” she says, then yelps again as Bucky smacks her twice for her cheek. (Heh.) “Hmmm, take them off me, Steve,” she repeats once she recovers, letting them know she was being serious. “Get my pants off me, baby, I want you to slide them off.”

“Go on, punk,” Bucky allows, running his hands over her thigh and back once more. “You heard the lady.”

Steve gets to work, reaching underneath her to unclasp her jeans and undo her zipper before leaning to his right so he could pull it off her. He barely gets them off her ass, getting distracted as he realizes why she wanted him to undress her. And start with her pants.

“ _Fuck_ , Darcy,” he croaks, seeing the familiar shape tented under a pair of blue see-through panties, the black-colored handle visibly peeking from between her pale cheeks. And then he stills, realizing why she’d cried out when he threw her on the bed, and when he spanked her, and why she’d sounded a little wounded when she answered him. “Sweetheart,” he exhales guiltily, “you shoulda told me. Did I hurt you?”

Darcy starts laughing. “Fuck, Steve,” she replies, “no, you didn’t. Well, maybe my ass got a little fucked unexpectedly, but it didn’t hurt. And duh, wouldn’t have been a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

“Oh,” he says, the guilt easing, and he couldn’t help but grin at the thought of her coming here, with  _that_  in her body, for the sole purpose of surprising them. He also promptly forgives her for her three-day absence.

“Ah,” Bucky says. “So that’s why you were so hot for a spanking.”

“You should fucking try it,” she drawls. “S’good.”

 _SMACK!_  The hurt sound she makes contrasts against the way she chases his hand for another hit, and Steve suddenly wishes she’d brought that ring she used on him, because watching  _this_  was threatening to be enough to finish him off.

Then again, watching them play together  _always_  feels like it’s enough to finish him off.

“That good too?” Bucky asks.

“Mm, yeah. Another?” He obliges. “Ungh, thank you.”

“So polite,” he grins. “Steve, get her pants off. And while you’re at it, tell her how pretty her ass is going to look with my handprint on it.”

 _Fuck_. “S’gonna be lovely,” he says, doing as Bucky ordered. “Like vanilla milkshake with a cherry on top.” Darcy starts laughing, and Bucky, though also grinning at the analogy, swats her for it. “You have beautiful skin, Darcy,” Steve soldiers on as he tugs her tight pants down her thighs, used to stumbling over his words when he’s with them, mostly because he rather save the use of crude words when they would do most damage, or in this type of scenario, cause orgasms. “I wish I could draw you right now. Immortalize the way Bucky’s hand will look on you just because it looks so good.”

_SMACK!_

“So pretty,” he continues roughly as she cries out, not daring to take his eyes off the hand rubbing and spanking at her skin, and he has the brief thought of finishing her request to get her pants off before deeming it unimportant. “It’s gonna be great, sweetheart, we promise.” He slides his fingers under the blue fabric and snaps it against her flesh, making her hum. “Can I take these off too?”

“Not yet,” she replies. “But I want your fingers in my pussy.”

Steve releases a heavy breath and obeys, shifting so that he’s a little bit behind her and feeling how soaked the fabric was as he moves it aside to slip two fingers into her.

Bucky stops her when she tries to spread her legs, not that she would’ve been able to given where he’d left her jeans. “Don’t move, Lewis,” he says, swatting her again, and Darcy yelps and bears down on Steve’s fingers in response. “Keep your legs tight together. Push your ass up a bit more. That’s it,” he tells her when she obeys, grunting and moaning as she gives Steve more room to work with. “You want him to fuck you with his fingers, doll?”

“No,” she exhales. “Just keep them there. Keep ‘em all the way in. Keep my cunt plugged like my ass is.”

“Christ,” Steve hisses, reaching down to tug at himself to relieve the pressure building in him.

“Need some help, Steven?” Bucky asks, giving him a wide grin as he pulls her shirt higher up her back.

“Nothin’ you can’t handle,” Steve replies, making him laugh.

“Nuh-uh,” Darcy pipes up, glaring at Steve. “I want him to fuck my pussy later,” she says, clearly to Bucky even though she doesn’t stop looking at him. “Want him to fuck me while I’m coming from your spanking, fuck me while my ass is plugged like this until I come again, until my pussy’s squeezing his cock because he made it come.”

Steve swears, pumping his length twice to ease the need she was evoking, and then again when her eyes drop to watch him do it.

“And then I want you to fuck my ass, Steve,” she continues mercilessly, and he nearly whimpers at the thought. “Fuck it until you blow your load right inside me, get my asshole slicked up with your spunk so Barnes can slide right in and fuck me senseless again.”

He definitely whimpers then, and even Bucky has nothing contrary to say to that proposal, swallowing quietly as he stares down at her hungrily, like there was nothing more he wanted to do than get their night started.

But she wasn’t finished yet. “And while he’s fucking my ass,” she adds, as if what she had mentioned wasn’t already  _enough_ , “I’m gonna use my mouth on you, Steve, get you hard and big so you can fuck me again, fuck me when he’s done reaming my ass with his dick. Gonna fuck me again, Steve, but in my cunt again, because it’ll be so wet, so  _jealous_  of the attention you’ve given my ass—”

“Darcy,  _fuck_ , you’re killing us over here,” Steve grits out, completely against the rules they’d set for him on Day One, which was to never interrupt when they were driving him insane. But Bucky’s a little too caught up in controlling his reaction to punish him for it, and Darcy doesn’t look like she minds.

In fact, she even laughs, bright and sharp and pleased at his reaction. “Oh, but what a way to go, baby.”

(Oh,  _God_. What a way  _indeed_.)

*

Holy.

Fuck.

Okay, so Lewis may have just racked helluva lot of points for that one, surpassing his own by at least a hundred points. He’s gonna have to come up with a way to even out the score and then put himself back ahead. Not that she knew he was keeping score in their unofficial game to make Steve lose it, but it was a matter of principal, damn it, and he needed to have proof, if only to himself, that being Steve’s soulmate meant he could do things better to Steve far better than her.

Still, that doesn’t mean he can’t look forward to what she has in mind for tonight. This was the first time they would get to fuck both her ass and pussy, after all. Not at the same time, obviously, but she’s clearly building up to that.

He fights to keep still, to not let her see just how affected he was by her words, and has to pull a little bit of the Winter Soldier out again so he wouldn’t twitch a muscle, wouldn’t roll his hips up to grind against her belly or just flip her onto her back and slide in so he can relieve the pressure building in his balls.

 _Steve first_ , he thinks, dragging his eyes back to where his hand rested on her ass.  _Steve always comes first_.

He swallows silently again, just to make sure his voice wouldn’t give him away, before opening his mouth. “How do you even know you’re gonna come from getting spanked, Lewis?” he asks, only half-curious, because if she wants what Steve threatened (not seriously, he knew, but she obviously took it seriously enough) her he would do, then he was certainly going to use everything in his arsenal to make it happen. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely gonna tan your hide until you do, even if it takes all night—” she moans at that, shuddering and gripping the sheets, and he has to grin a little, her reactions to his dangerous little promises (not as empty as Steve’s, because he  _always_  delivers) always amusing, “—but some people aren’t wired to take pleasure from pain. You might not even come. Then where would we be? Poor Steve won’t be able to fuck you the way you want him to, the way you told him to.”

“M’gonna come,” she vows, voice hitching with a small whine, “I’m gonna come, you’ll see. You’ll see, Barnes, m’gonna come from you spanking me—”

“With a little help from Steve?” he asks, mentally giving himself the appropriate points for both her and Steve’s reactions to his tease. “Is that why he’s got his fingers so deep in your cunt?”

She whimpers, pressing her head to the mattress and bowing her back before she relaxes again. “No,” she denies. “No, it’s so that he knows when I come. So he knows when to pull me back on his cock and fuck me, fuck my cunt.”

 _Shit_ , he thinks, the visual a little too sexy to ignore. Steve’s always just a little bit careful with her, even when he’s getting rough, and he’s never seen Steve do  _that_ , never seen him just pull her pussy back onto his dick—

Suddenly,  _suddenly_ , he’s so  _fucking_  ready for this show to start.

“You tell me if it’s too much, doll,” he warns her, as always.

“Yes,” she says, breathless with anticipation, as always.

He brings his hand down on her without warning, a testing swat that has her choking on a moan and pressing her head harder against the mattress, but to her credit, she doesn’t let her hips do anything more than jerk in surprise, doesn’t pull away. And she doesn’t tell him to stop.

So he doesn’t. He keeps every single strike a surprise, sometimes making her cry louder, but mostly drawing gasps and groans from her throat and making her back grow slick with sweat. His eyes flit between watching Steve take in the show while jerking his dick every now and then, and joining Steve in watching his hand paint her normally pale ass cheeks an angry, violent red under her blue, thin-netted panties, while his mouth keeps up a running commentary that often has Steve squeezing the head of his cock.

Lewis on the other hand? She says  _nothing_. Not to make his hits harder or lighter, or to stop, or even to swear or call to God like she usually did, she just…

She just  _takes it_.

And god _damn_ , it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen her do to date.

And then she starts sobbing, her hips checking back while she groans a low, strangled “Fuck” into the mattress, and Steve swears, his eyes squinting, nose flaring, lips baring teeth as he yanks Lewis backwards, out from under his grip, and slides in to her cunt with one thrust.

He stares for a little too long, honestly stunned that she had come from getting spanked, and mentally goes over the whole thing again in his head. It had only taken her nine minutes and seventeen seconds.

 _That_ , he amends, is the sexiest thing he’s seen her do to date.

(He unconsciously debates on whether to give her another hundred points or a hundred thousand points, because  _holy. fuck_.)

He watches Steve’s face, neck and chest flush with need and exertion as he thrusts into her, his hips pounding into her like they’re a little out of control, just the way they liked him. On his lap, Lewis  _squeals_  into his thigh at every slap of Steve’s abdomen against the little plug and her abused ass. He has half a mind to undo his belt, to stifle her little sounds with his dick, but although he’s seen and heard how well she can suck cock, that was a power over him he refused to give her.

Instead, he leans to his left to run his hand down her back and under her panties so that he could flick at the plug’s handle. “C’mon, punk,” he says over her shrill yell. “Get that pussy coming so you can fuck this little ass. Look at it, look at that plug she stuffed in there for you. Remember how wide her asshole stretched for me? That’s how it’s gonna look for you in just a little while.”

“Bucky,  _fuck_ , you  _jerk_ ,” Steve gasps, giving him a wild, almost helpless look that shoots straight to his balls and makes him leak just a little.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, pulling the Winter Soldier out a bit more to steady himself again. The needy haze is shaken off him, and he gains control once more.

“You gonna come already, Steve?” he asks, already thinking up ways to either stop it or—

“No,” Steve replies, sounding strangled. “No, but I will if you keep talkin’ like that.”

“But I want you to come,” he grins, messing with the toy in Lewis’s ass again just to hear her react to it. “Why do you think I keep talking like this?”

“ _Fuck!”_  Lewis sobs unexpectedly, her hips rolling again.

As soon as he realizes she was coming, he pulls his hand from under her panties to snap the crotch of it apart, and then he tugs the ruined article up over her waist with one hand while the other pulls the plug out of her, the toy giving a little  _pop_  as it left her asshole.

“ _Look_  at that,” he tells Steve unnecessarily over Lewis’s surprised screech. He can’t see it at this angle, but he sure as hell can remember what it looked like four nights ago, and it probably looks the same if Steve’s hungry gaze was any indication. “Look at it all stretched out and waiting for you. Is she done coming? Lewis, are you done? Can Steve fuck your ass now?”

“Yes,” she whispers, and if she hadn’t rolled her hips, he would’ve thought she sounded scared. “Yes, Steve, come take my ass. Come take my ass again.”

Steve looked like he wanted nothing more than to just shove himself in.

“Careful,” he reminds, and Steve visibly checks himself, relaxing his grip on her hips before slipping out of her cunt and spreading her cheeks so he could press his dick inside her ass. Lewis keens at the entry, low and reedy, and moves her hands onto his hip and leg and clutches at him, and he smiles, because these are the same sounds and actions she’d made four nights ago and that means she’s enjoying this. “Look at her,” he tells Steve, “look at her being so good for you, Steve.”

“She’s perfect, Buck,” Steve says back, jaw clenched. “She’s fucking perfect,  _fuck_ , how did you do this? I feel like I’m about to explode.”

He actually almost answers, but  _like hell_  was he going to give her that ammunition. “Hear that, doll?” he says instead. “Your ass is a little too much for Steve.”

“Good,” she replies. “Good, I want it to be, I want it to be good for you, Steve, I want to be good for you.”

“You are, sweetheart,” Steve tells her, smoothing a hand over her sweat-slicked back to take his hand and slide their entwined fingers down over one red cheek. He gropes the red, abused flesh experimentally and has both of them whining simultaneously. “You are, you feel perfect,” he grits out, “and wonderful—”

“And tight?” she asks. “Am I tight enough for you, baby?”

“And hot,” Steve agrees, eyelids fluttering shut, “so hot around me, sweetheart—”

“Is it better than my pussy?”

“Just as good,” Steve answers. “Just as lovely—”

Lewis hums. “Come on, Steve, start fucking me, fuck my ass, c’mon.”

Steve groans and obeys, and between his soulmate’s obvious pleasure and delight and Lewis’s encouraging words and hiccupping little sounds, he has to pull the Winter Soldier about a bit more before he did a Steve and came without ever touching himself.

“Come for me, baby,” Lewis says, lifting her head up to try and look at Steve. “Come in my ass.”

“Gonna make you come again first,” Steve tells her, opening his eyes and meeting her gaze.

“ _No_ ,” she intones firmly, and even he can't stop from twitching at her commanding tone, “you’re going to come inside me  _now_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve breathes, and then, as usual,  _obeys_. He hunkers down and starts pounding into her, quick and just this side of rough, and between fucking her ass and listening to her demand that he fill her up good, it doesn’t take long until he  _does_. “Oh God,  _Darcy_ ,” he exhales, face pressed against her back, “Darcy, sweetheart,  _God_.”

Lewis hums, looking like the cat who got the canary, or in this case, the cream. “Yeah, Steve, baby, that was so good,” she tells him breathily, “so good, would’ve made me come if you fucked me any longer.”

“Shoulda let me,” he slurs contentedly, clearly settling into the post-orgasm haze.

“Mm, but what about Bucky?” she asks, and at this, Steve grunts and slips out of her.

“Bucky’s turn,” he agrees, still slurring, but the eagerness has seeped back to his voice.

Lewis gingerly gets off his lap and looks at him. “Aw, Steve,” she says as her fingers curl into his shirt, “look at him, he’s still  _dressed_.”

He plasters a smirk on his face. “Look who’s talking,” he replies, because she and Steve hadn’t exactly shed any of their clothes either. Even her panties, though no longer serving their primary function, were still up around her waist, hanging like a loose belt.

“But you’re—” she snaps his buckle open, “—still—” pops the button of his pants, “— _covered_ ,” tugs his zipper down. “Hardly fair,” she says as she wraps her hand around his dick and lifts it out of his underwear. “Oh god,” she breathes, licking her lips as she looks at him. “Look at him, Steve. Look at what watching you fuck me did to him.”

He doesn’t dare look down to see what he even looked like. “Come sit on my cock—” he stops himself before the next word slips out, “—doll.”

“Mm, yes sir,” she says, saluting him before carefully turning on her back to free her legs from her jeans. “Sit a bit at the edge of the bed. Do you want my ass or my pussy first?” she asks as she shucks her pants to the side.

He sees Steve’s dick twitch in interest at the question, so that was probably just her starting to get him hard again. “Well, you did tell Steve to blow his load in your ass so I could slide right in and fuck you senseless,” he reminds her as he moves himself into place, ignoring the urge to stoke his cock to ease the pressure in his balls a little and concluding that she wanted space for Steve to move into so she could get her mouth on him. “So ass.”

Lewis straddles him, her covered breasts right in his face, and he leans forward to bite her right nipple through her shirt. She gives him a little “ _Hanh!”_  and bucks forward, cunt sliding wetly over his dick as a small cry escapes her and  _Christ_ , but he gives in then, slips up just a little, because he’s been fighting the instinct to relieve himself since this all started and he just—

— _wants_.

“Hoh _fuck!”_  she cries, fingers raking through his hair, back arching at his thrust, and he has to wrap his arms around her to keep her from toppling backwards. “God,  _fuck_ , Barnes that’s my  _cunt_ , don’t you know the fucking difference—!”

“Weren’t you just offering?” he grunts, grinding up to her, feeling her shudder as he pulls her at an angle that slides the stiff nub between her folds along the base of his dick.

“You just  _said_ —”

“Steve, Jesus, shut her up,” he snaps over her grumbling, and starts to fuck into her as the bed shifts with Steve’s weight. “Get her hands behind her neck and keep it there while you fuck her face for me.” He grins up at her, wide and sharp. “I don’t want to hear a single word out of her.”

“God _damn it_ , Barnes,” she snarls, but she lets Steve grip both her wrists behind her head before taking his dick in her mouth, as she promised, and he laughs, because the girl was confusing as fuck and he loved her for it.

 _“Fuck_ ,” he snarls, realizing too late what he’d just thought.

Lewis  _laughs_ , thick and full of Steve, who lets out a happy sound. “Pussy too much for you, Barnes?” she says before sucking Steve down again.

The little  _bitch_.

He takes the Winter Soldier out just a bit more, hears the persona muzzle down the cacophony ringing in his ears, and feels control slip back to him.

He looks up at Steve. “ _What the hell_  did I just  _say_ , punk?” he rumbles, and whatever Steve sees on his face has him flushing red again.

“Fuck, Bucky,” he swears, already quickly moving her wrists together so he can grip them with one hand while the other slides fingers through her hair to control her movements. Lewis goes still and relaxes for him—for the both of them, actually—and Steve takes it as his cue to start pumping his quickly hardening dick in her mouth.

As for him, he moves his arms back to grasp her hips and pulls his dick out of her cunt, letting it slide lower, to where he knows his target is, and  _slams_  right into her still-open ass. “Better, Lewis?” he growls as he settles her ass flat against his thighs, her howl of surprise muffled by a mouthful of cock. “Is that what you want? My dick in your ass, fucking Steve’s spunk right back inside you? Fuck, you were right, you know. I slid right in, and now,” he adds, leaning up to say the words into her ear, “I’m gonna fuck you senseless.”

“Hohmgo’,” she murmurs around Steve, and then shouts the words again when he starts pumping her onto him and thrusting to meet her body.

“You want Steve to fuck your pussy again?” he asks rhetorically. “Maybe I won’t let him unless I’m still in your ass.”

“ _Holy fuck_ ,” Steve exclaims as she shudders and whines, the hand gripping her wrists flexing visibly at the taunt. “Bucky,  _fuck_.”

He chuckles, dark and intent, and though every push and pull of her tight ass makes his need to let go roar higher and higher, it’s easy to ignore it so long as he keeps a tight grip on his control, so long as the Winter Solder is blanketing his mind keeping his physical desires at bay.

“You like that, Steve?” he says. “You want to feel me in her ass while you stretch her pretty cunt with your cock?” Lewis sobs mutedly around Steve at the idea, and her ass starts clench around him, making her feel even snugger around him. “ _She_  likes it. She’s squeezing down on my dick, Steve. I think it’s doing the Morse code for ‘yes’.”

Steve has to pause his motions as he slaps hand over his face and laughs, which means her mouth has over half of his thick length in it while  _she_  starts to laugh, which only has Steve choking on the mirth bubbling out his throat.

“Wasn’t kidding,” he tells them as he stops fucking her, sinking her flat over him again and moving a hand down to part the wet folds of her pussy with his fingers. He find her clit easily and starts rolling it a little harder than usual, and Lewis stops laughing and jerks mindlessly, taking Steve deeper as she makes that little choked noise of hers, body squirming, rising and sinking and grinding on its own on his dick as she tries to break free of Steve’s grip, most likely to stop him.

But here’s the thing: Steve? He’s  _obedient_. There was no way she was getting her hands free until he told Steve to let her go.

He smiles at the thought of keeping her just like this, dancing and squeezing and fucking herself thoughtlessly onto him for hours, until she just collapsed, like before, all blissed out and beautif—

He snarls and maintains his grip on her nub until she’s screaming, until tears were leaking from her eyes and he couldn’t keep at it anymore without seriously hurting her, and when he stops, it’s an automatic, instinctive thing for him to put pressure over her abused bud instead, knowing by now what helps her calm down.

But then the realization that he knows that, that he  _knows_  her  _that well_  and makes allowances for her without even needing to think about it? It only fires him up again, and he snaps his teeth around her cloth-covered nipple while slipping three digits up her soaked cunt, scraping his fingertips over the spot where he knows—God fucking  _damn it_ —that magical spot in her is before pulling back and pounding his fingers against it.

Her body goes rigid, eyes glazing over, mouth making a loud slurping sound, like she was trying to suck in air but got Steve’s dick instead. He grins and fucks her ass again, one, twice, wiggles his fingers against that hard spot inside—

“ _HMMMMMM!”_  she keens, loud despite being muffled, and her body clamps down on him, on his dick and on his fingers, and _gushes_ , soaking his belly and the sheets as she came _hard_ , just like four nights ago, and he can’t help but think this is the best possible way he could feel her coming, tight and stuffed and milking him down for everything he’s got.

 _Finally_ , he thinks, and relinquishes his need for control, pushing the Winter Soldier back into the darkest parts of his memories.

“ _FUCK!”_  he calls out as everything he’d been keeping back rushes forward, overwhelming him. No longer in control, not now that he’d taken care of her body’s needs, he slides his fingers out to grip her hips and grind her down on him, the fluttering pulses massaging his length and the brush of her skin over his full balls helps take him right to the edge—

“ _God fucking damn it!”_  he snarls, not even registering Steve’s loud shout, too busy and desperate in his attempts to let go, to fill her with the spunk churning readily in his balls, but just  _fails_  to get it out of him. He growls and bucks his hips up to her, fucking her a little more urgently than he normally would, sliding his arm back around her waist so he can tilt her back and get the angle he needs stimulate himself with to come, but it doesn’t h—

“Hohmygod, James,” he hears her rasp, and he looks up at her to see her wide, darkened eyes, her chin and swollen red lips streaked with strips of white, “James,  _fuck_ , come inside me, fill me up, I  _need_  it, I need  _you_ —”

He sucks in a sharp breath and feels relief blow straight through him. “ _Darcy, oh fuck!”_  he groans, eyes never leaving hers as he sinks himself deep, his balls easing and tightening, sending their load up his dick and pushing every drop he had into her snug, clamping, hungry ass.

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses back as she slides her slim, cool fingers through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, and that only  _adds_  to the rush of release. “Yes, James, that’s it,  _that’s it_ , baby,  _crrrm’n_ ,” she growls, rolling her body against him, “fill me up, come inside me, I can feel you giving it to me, give me everything you got,  _grrrd_ , you feel so  _gmph_ —”

Too much. Suddenly it’s too much, her voice is  _too much_ , and he yanks her to him, slanting his lips over hers to  _shut her up_. And at the taste of Steve’s spunk on her lips and the feel of her lush, soft body pressed against his and her ass squeezing him tight and the smell of her skin filling his lungs and the sensation of a warm mouth sucking at his neck and the press of a firm chest at his bac—

He whites out, flying through brightness, flashing through light, feeling like his body was weightless and ethereal and right then, he knew that nothing could touch him in this place, that nothing else could feel better, nothing else could  _feel. this. good_.

( _Nothing else but the—_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEY DID NOT GOT NAKED AT ALL. *spluttering laugh of disbelief*
> 
> JESUS CHRIST I LOVE THESE TWO! SERIOUSLY, THEY'RE LIKE MY OTP, AND STEVE MAKES 3. *MANIC LAUGHTER, WAVES FREAK FLAG* WOOT!
> 
> Okay, lay it on me, good? bad? too much? too little??? And seriously, how did you find Darcy? I was trying to show how "in her head" Bucky has gotten, but still keep out the fact that SHE doesn't even acknowledge it to herself, that she wants to keep him out as much as possible (even though it's a futile thing because he's already in).
> 
> And what about Bucky? I was trying flesh out the hate/love/don't-want-you-but-I-do mindset he's developing for Darcy, but I'm not sure that's what this came out as.
> 
> I have an idea for a chapter 4 if you guys are interested, but imma try doing ' _are you the one? (yep, that was me)_ ' first. If I still fail at that, then I'll flesh out the chapter 4. But for now, this is it. (BECAUSE THIS WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE ONE CHAPTER BUT _YOU GUYS_ , UGH.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has denial and the Winter Soldier running around his brain, but his actions speak otherwise. Darcy also has denial on the brain, but her actions also speak otherwise. And because of their silent little competition, they accidentally grant Steve the means to screw with their (non-existent) equilibrium some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE YOU GO, MORE PORN WITH PLOT.
> 
> WHY CAN'T I STOP WRITING PLOT WITH PORN?
> 
> WHY CAN'T I MAKE THESE TWO JUST SIT DOWN AND TALK ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS INSTEAD OF TAKING IT OUT ON EACH OTHER THROUGH SEX???
> 
> WARNINGS: Mentions the words 'panic attack' and 'triggered', but neither actually happen.
> 
> IT'S ALL SEX AND FEELS IN HERE, OKAY?
> 
> Oooh, plus, a look at how the Winter Soldier exists in Bucky's head.
> 
> ON WITH THE PORN! I MEAN, PLOT!

“You should stay.”

She startles, nearly dropping the butt plug before she catches it against her belly, and he tries not to laugh at the wide-eyed look she shoots him. “What?” she asks, looking at him, then at the bathroom door where Steve was, then at him again.

“Stay the night,” he expounds simply. “You never do.”

Lewis is no trained spy or assassin, so there is no way she can hide the longing glance she shoots at the spot she’d just vacated. “I don’t think you want me to,” she replies honestly, keeping her words vague, obviously in case Steve could hear them, but trusting that he would understand that she meant their deal.

And before tonight, she would be right. Lewis complicates things. Complicates _him and Steve_. She’s a variable that shouldn’t be present in their relationship.

But she is, and she is because _he_ put her there.

So really, the complication? That’s all his fault.

And he accepts that. He accepts responsibility for her presence, for the complications.

That doesn’t mean he wants it. But that also doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it.

…fuck, she’s so fucking confusing him right now.

Maybe it’s not the best time to do this. Maybe he should let her go on and leave.

… _but Steve wants her here_ , he remembers, which is the reason he’s asking her to stay in the first place. He’s getting more attached every day, missing her more, wanting her with him— _them_ —for as long as possible. The few times they managed to exhaust her in the past, to the point that she passed out on their beds, Lewis had always woken and left when Steve got up to go to the bathroom, putting Steve in an unhappy mood that translated into a grumpy morning run.

Well, with the exception of the other night. Steve had spent an entire hour watching her sleep after his jaunt to the bathroom, looking stunned that she was still there when he came back. Then Steve gathered the girl up in one arm, took him in the other, and slept so deeply he almost didn’t wake up for their morning run. His glum mood when he found her gone after they returned was only washed away when they saw her again during breakfast.

He would’ve been jealous at Steve’s fascination, jealous of Lewis’s hold on his soulmate, but he’s not. He _should be_ , but he’s _not_.

And on top of that, Steve, he doesn’t _ask_ for anything _more_. At least, not when it comes to their arrangement with Lewis (not that Steve knew there was an _actual_ arrangement in the first place). In fact, Steve only mentions his desire for her to stay the night with them once, around a month after Lewis joined them. He then got such a stricken, guilty look on his face when he realized what he’d said, apologized for bringing it up, and never did so again.

But it only takes the once, and the thought of Lewis joining him and Steve in their bed for more than sex has haunted him every time he watches her get and leave.

And it never fails to make him remember why Steve even started something with her in the first place either.

The fact that Steve never once asks for more than what he’s already getting only emphasizes the sins he has committed against Steve, and he already thinks that the parameters of his and Lewis’s agreement were convoluted anyway, so why not add one more?

Though, if he’s honest, he hadn’t expected the words to make it past his throat tonight. They never could, at least not before she was already gone, and by then, there was no point in speaking them, was there?

Then again, tonight had been…

He shakes the mess of thoughts off and raises an eyebrow at her. “Get back in bed, Lewis.”

She (wisely, selfishly, thankfully) chooses not to argue with him, dropping her pants and ruined panties on the floor again and setting her black plug back on the nightstand before slithering into her abandoned place, diving quickly under the blankets to escape the cold.

Predictably, she is the first person Steve’s eyes fall to when he steps out of the bathroom. “Hey there,” Steve says, looking pleased, which was really all he needed to accept that he was doing the right thing.

“Hey back,” she murmurs to Steve, smiling and letting him pull her into a kiss as he moves over her to take his place between them. The kiss doesn’t last long, because all three of them are worn out thanks to Lewis’s version of an apology, but he still has to press his tongue against the back of his teeth to bite down on his jealousy. (But oddly enough, he’s not sure if he’s jealous of Steve or of Lewis.) And then Steve’s hand finds his hip and squeezes, somehow conveying gratitude and love with that one gesture, and the green worm wiggling in his gut subsides a little. (He’s a little surprised to realize that the answer is _both_. He’s jealous of both.)

“You wanna take that shirt off?” Steve asks quietly, tugging at the clothing she’d yet to discard.

“Nope,” she replies, sliding her hands over Steve’s bare chest to rest over his heart. “No boobies for you two tonight. They’re still recovering from Barnes using them as his personal stress balls the other night.”

He’s a little alarmed at the reminder—he had been a little preoccupied to watch his strength back then, and he hadn’t even wondered why she hadn’t taken her shirt off tonight—but Steve only reacts with amusement, so he figures this is something that happens. (Jealousy again. And self-recrimination. And anger, but not at them, but at himself. Christ.)

“Are you—? Are you okay?” Steve asks, biting his lip as he fights off his laughter. “Does it hurt?”

“Shut your face, Steven,” she says with narrowed eyes. “I’m fine. Wouldn’t have come over if I wasn’t.”

 _Asset,_ the Winter Soldier whispers, sounding far too close to the surface of his mind. _The Intruder is providing The Mission with a f_ —

He shuts that thought down, frowning as he realizes how long he’s kept the Winter Soldier out since… well, since he thought what he’d thought about Lewis, and pushes his alter ego back in the direction of his dark little corner.

“You sure?” Steve grins. “Maybe we should have a look?”

She rolls her eyes. “Go to sleep, Steve.”

He has to agree. Steve has a meeting with Miss Potts in the morning, and while he doesn’t need a full eight hours of sleep, it was already ten minutes past two, which means he only had four hours to sleep before he got up for their usual morning run, and his soulmate got a little cranky if he got any less sleep than that. “Go to sleep, Steve,” he enforces.

“Great, two of you,” Steve grumbles playfully as he leans down to press a kiss to Lewis’s hair before turning to kiss him goodnight. “Go to sleep,” Steve tells him.

“After you,” he replies, and with him carding his fingers through Steve’s hair while Lewis traces gentle circles over his chest, Steve drops into sleep in record time.

And then he snores.

Lewis puts her fingers to her lips, biting back a giggle.

“What?” he asks her.

She shakes her head. “It’s just a little funny every time I hear it,” she answers quietly, smiling. “Captain America snores.”

“Only when he’s fast asleep,” he tells her, not bothering to lower his voice. When Steve really fell asleep, he _stayed_ asleep. “A whisper or a shout’ll wake him, but talking normally or loudly won’t do shit when he’s like this.”

She grins, completely amused, but that fades quickly, replaced by a serious look. “Why?” she asks, and he doesn’t pretend to not understand what she’s asking.

“He wants you here,” he answers simply.

“But you don’t,” she says again.

He pauses, and (is a little stunned when the answer doesn’t come to him at once. There was a time when he would’ve immediately said _no_. But _what does that mean?)_ considers her quietly, thinking up answers and predicting her responses to them. Only two are most likely to ensure she would remain in their rooms after they fuck, but if he makes use of the first option, there was a chance that Steve could witness this conversation should he access the surveillance footage of their bedroom. So, uncomfortable though it makes him, he employs the other option instead.

Truth.

Or at least a form of it.

“I want him happy,” he tells her. “I hurt him plenty, and I’m trying to make up for it. Of everything I’ve done, you’re the one that brought us closer.” _Not just physically_ , he almost adds, and he quickly blocks out every other thought that tries to surface through the din in his already chaotic head.

Lewis gives him a surprised look. “Oh,” she says simply.

“So you can stay here,” he continues. “After,” _fucking_ , he would’ve added, but he’s trying for sincerity, so he doesn’t. “If you want to.”

Her lips part, but she’s a bit too stunned to say anything until after several long moments have passed. “Okay,” she replies, just as he predicted she would. “But you’ll tell me if you don’t want me to—”

“Go to sleep, Lewis,” he tells her, because he wasn’t going to make her— _anyone_ —a promise he didn’t intend to keep.

 _Asset, you are experiencing a malfunction_ , _do not engage The W_ —

 _Shut up_ , he tells the Winter Soldier, this time pushing him back all the way into his dark little corner and making sure he stays there.

Lewis snaps her mouth close and swallows, staring at him a bit longer with wide, surprised eyes before finally obeying, shifting against Steve to get more comfortable. It doesn’t take long for her eyes to start fluttering shut

“Mm,” she hums right before she nods off, “that feels nice.”

He hadn’t noticed when it started, but when he does, it’s only the fact that he might wake her back up that keeps him from pulling back; so instead, he glares at his left hand as its thumb draws circles on her arm. Stark had looked it over and deemed it safe enough, but sometimes he thinks the arm has a mind of its own, particularly in instances like these, when he’s half-donned his former persona for a long time.

“Traitor,” he hisses at it, and half expects it to flip him off.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep ( _three hours and forty-three minutes_ , comes the automatic report that, had he not been occupied, would’ve had him pushing his alter ego away immediately), but he wakes up to a mouth on his cock and gladly comes on Steve’s muffled words of gratitude. And then he watches, conflicted, as his smiling, uncharacteristically energetic soulmate lifts those smooth, pale legs over his shoulders and presses his open mouth to Lewis’s cunt.

 _Asset, you are experiencing a malfunction_ , the Winter Soldier reports as she starts to respond, her legs unconsciously shifting to push Steve closer, her hands moving down to run through his hair, quiet little moans building in her throat. _Your aggression module seems to be directed towards The Mission instead of The Intruder_.

He frowns and pushes his other-self back away, making a note to himself to never keep him out for so long again.

(It takes him a while to acknowledge that the Winter Soldier was right; he was jealous of Steve, and wished it was his face pressed between her thighs.)

*

Darcy wakes up with a gasp, body burning with frustration, and it takes her just a touch too long to realize what was going on.

“Steve,” she slurs, feeling an impossible combination of sleepiness and horniness as she rakes her fingers through his hair. “Jesus, really?”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding at all apologetic, nor does he act like it, not when he’s dragging his tongue over her, flat and firm and making her hips rise to follow it. “Had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming you up.” He punctuates the sentence with a quick, hard suck that has her gasping and pressing a hand to her forehead, trying to keep her sleep-addled brain from exploding out of her skull. “But then I found you wet and open and you just taste so good, I couldn’t bear to stop.”

“Jesus,” she repeats, stunned, and then she moans as his fingers slide into her, stretching her too wide to be just two. “Steve, _god_ , I— I have work— _ah!_ —in a few hours!”

“M’just gonna get you off, sweetheart,” he promises, then flicks his tongue over her, quick and teasing. “Just come around my fingers and I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

Hearing _that_ from _Steve_ was both shocking and thrilling, and Darcy whines at the way it fuels the need beating through her veins. “Oh, fuck, okay,” she laughs, because like hell was she gonna turn down an orgasm, not when she was _this_ close. “I can— _mmmh_ —I can get behind that.”

Cool metal slides under her hand, the chill settling on her forehead easing the heat swirling through her head, and she opens her eyes to find Ja— _Barnes_ hovering next to her. There was a look in his eyes she couldn’t parse, couldn’t translate, and his silence as Steve continues to drive her to the edge is like a heavy but oddly warm blanket. She opens her mouth to say something to him, but then Steve hits that spot inside her that never fails to make her see stars and she seizes up, coming wordlessly around his fingers and on his mouth while staring up at this quiet, unfamiliar version of James “Bucky” Barnes, whose glance at her parted lips has her thinking he might kiss her again, and the thought only stokes her pleasure higher.

He doesn’t kiss her though, and she remembers why that’s for the best once she’s come back down to Earth and his hand slides off her skin.

“Beautiful,” Steve tells her before slanting his lips over hers, and Darcy, still staring up at Barnes, moans at the familiar taste of herself on Steve’s tongue. “Sorry to wake you up,” he says, pulling back a little, and she focuses her gaze on him.

“Mm, don’t be,” she hums, nuzzling her nose along his jaw contentedly as lethargy seeps back into her bones. “Feel free to wake me up any time.”

His face lights up with an adorable grin. “Does that mean you’ll be sleeping over more often?” he asks, his low voice contrasting against that bright-eyed look he’s wearing.

“Mm, if you and Barnes are okay with it,” she slurs, eyelids drooping shut.

(Hours later, she wakes up again to the same treatment, Barnes’s cold hand already on her forehead, and he watches her once more as Steve makes her come on his tongue.)

*

“Good morning,” Steve tells her, grinning as he leans up to kiss her as thoroughly as possible. When he and Bucky got back from their run, during which he half-convinced himself he’d only dreamed up her presence that morning, he had been expecting to find an empty room again. But instead, they returned to find a human-sized blanket burrito lying diagonally in the middle of the bed, with long curls and a pretty face peeking from one end.

Steve was thrilled to find her there, of course, and he couldn’t help but try and give her a little incentive to keep doing it.

And yes, he _is_ willing to play a little dirty if it meant she’d be more inclined to stay the night again.

“I think,” she says, panting, “I can see the benefits of sleeping over.”

Steve laughs, delighted to hear it. “Woulda done this sooner,” he replies, sliding his fingers inside her and frowning when he realizes he can’t see the way her breasts were surely straining against her shirt because she’s still wrapped in the blankets, “but you never gave me the chance.”

“Was already invading the sexing,” she grunts, bearing down on his digits, making him hiss as he imagines sliding himself back inside her and feeling her squeeze his erection instead. “Didn’t wanna invade the sleeping.”

“Feeling guilty about playing third fiddle, Lewis?” Bucky asks, making Steve snap his head up to look at his soulmate. The words had been a little too blunt, more than he’s ever heard Bucky say to Darcy, and it feels even more out of place considering he still has his metal hand pressed over her forehead.

“Yes,” she answers, meeting Bucky’s gaze.

Bucky hums. “Don’t,” he tells her, and though Darcy gives him a bewildered look, Steve relaxes, relieved that the question had been voiced so Darcy could be reassured. “Now I was thinkin’,” Bucky says, low and mischievous, “we oughta be fair to Steve. We got him squirming every night for the past three months. Whaddaya say we let him take over in the mornings?”

Steve gapes at him, and Darcy moans and clamps down on him again. “Both of you or just him?” she asks, squirming in an obvious bid to free herself from the bind she put herself in, which meant she was also rolling her hips to take his fingers in deeper. It breaks him out of his stunned trance, and he can’t help but watch her slide herself onto him, which, _fuck_ , was so hot, he could feel himself leak a little at the sight.

“Just him,” Bucky replies, his silver thumb brushing over her brow in what was unmistakably a gesture of reassurance. “Just Steve. In the mornings. Let him give it a try, hm?”

“Yes,” she breathes, and then they both turn to look at him. “Steve?” she asks, still moving around, the smirk on her face telling him she knew exactly what she was doing. “You want?”

“Fuck,” he says, tongue-tied already from Bucky’s proposal, and her writhing is not helping him think. Well, no, that’s not true, he has loads of ideas, lots of things he wants to try, but given the chance now, he has no idea how to articulate them. He knows they’d be up for anything, but—

Bucky, seeming to understand his prolonged silence, says with an amused tone, “You don’t have to talk to us. Just tell us how you want us, what you want us to do.”

Which, wow, he wants. Seriously, he _wants_ that. But really, there’s a reason he lets them do the talking.

“I’d rather hear from you two,” he replies, sliding his fingers out of Darcy and moving to rub her when she makes a sound of protest, needing a little control back if he wants to say this well enough for them to understand what he means. “I’d rather listen to you two. I’m already giving orders out there,” he jerks his head to the door. “It’s nice to be the one following orders sometimes. Well,” he amends, “in here. From you two.” He grins. “It’s like I’m on vacation, but better, because there’s sex.”

“Fuck,” Darcy laughs, looking annoyed and awed all at once. “How the hell is he so perfect?”

Bucky grins back at him. “That’s Steve for ya,” he chuckles. “But how’sabout you tell us when you want the floor, and if you don’t, we play it by ear,” he suggests. “No orders, well,” he adds, “not ones you have to wait for a countermand for.” He narrows his eyes at Steve. “Not that you wait for them, really.”

Steve smiles shamelessly. “Sounds fair,” he agrees over Darcy’s strangled little noise when he slides his thumb up through her folds to press directly over her swollen bundle of nerves. “Darcy, what do you think?”

“Think?” she echoes with a little whine. “What’s that?”

Bucky laughs quietly before stopping himself, immediately looking put-off by his reaction. “Steve, stop that for a bit,” he says. “She hasn’t said yes.”

The worry that had coiled inside him eases, and he tells himself he needs to stop doubting Bucky’s reactions to Darcy. It’s been months, they’ve been getting along, and he needs to stop doubting and start trusting that peace to last, lest he turn his fears into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Darcy groans when he retracts his hand from her. “ _Yes_ ,” she snaps, glaring up at Bucky. “Yes, okay, I agree, you _know_ I agree, _god_ , just fuck me already!”

“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky asks, still not moving from where he was lying beside her.

“Yup,” he replies, popping his p’s playfully as he slides over to Darcy’s other side, pressing his smile to her lips again. “Heard her loud and clear,” he adds when he pulls away from her. “Think she was talkin’ t’you, jerk.”

“You are both evil, evil people,” Darcy growls as Bucky rolls off the bed to take his clothes off, and, inspired, he slips his arm over her to hold the blankets together before she could get free. “ _Steve!”_

“It’s this,” he says, “or I pull out those handcuffs I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

“Fuck,” she huffs, going still, through her body remains tense with anticipation. “I think I remember why we don’t let you do the talking.”

“I dunno,” Bucky tells her as he moves between her knees and pulls her legs up to rest her feet on his shoulders, “I think I like hearing what Steve has to say. Hey, Steve,” he adds as he leans down, Darcy going breathless as her body opens up for him in the process, “where do you want me?”

Steve smiles, then looks down at the woman in his arms. “Any preferences?”

“Oh god, yes,” Darcy moans, her eyes fluttering shut as Bucky slides himself over her flesh with one hand, the other supporting his weight as he leans down to mouth at her covered right breast. “I mean, no, no, anywhere. Anywhere you want him, Steve, your choice.”

 _Christ_. As if he needs anymore incentive to convince her to sleep over. “Bucky,” he says, pressing another kiss to her lips, “fuck her cunt for me.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” Darcy moans, thrilled as always when he resorts to their level of crude, and then she gasps and bounces along the bed as Bucky does as he asks. “ _God!”_

Steve smiles and leans back to watch them both.

(Best. Morning. Ever.)

*

It takes him a few hours to reorient himself. Lewis was _literally_ his soulmate’s mistress, so what the hell had he been thinking? Just because he had the best orgasm of his long, long life while pressed between her and Steve—

Okay, that’s not helping.

Okay, annoying things about Lewis.

First Annoying Thing: Lewis, he and Steve discover over the next few days, was a bit of a blanket hog. (Which figures, considering she liked to hog Steve when they had him between them.) He’d never been able to sleep the way Steve could, something Steve tells him was normal for him even before they enlisted, so he was snapping awake every time the blankets started to slide off him and yanking them back into place.

They never mention it to her—he doesn’t because there’s a chance that simply mentioning it to her would chase her away again, and Steve won’t because he thinks it’s adorable (it’s not. It’s annoying as hell and yes, they could control the temperature of the room, but it’s _his_ blanket, goddamn it, so could she _not_ keep stealing it?), so to solve the problem, he goes and buys her a blanket of her own.

It’s there, standing in line at the cashier, that he thinks, _what the hell is wrong with me?_ , because Stark had loads of spare blankets, hell, _she_ had her own set of blankets, so why the fuck did he head out and buy her a new set himself?

Jesus fucking Christ, what was _wrong_ with him?

He ends up buying the blankets anyway, knowing that it would draw attention if he cut out of the line and put the merchandise back, but stashes it in the closet instead of putting it out to be used, because that was just… _not_ going to happen. And he continues to endure the blanket-stealing until he feels like he’s about to snap, and then has JARVIS increase the temperature in the room so that he wouldn’t need them anymore. Having Steve beside him is like lying next to a furnace anyway.

Second Annoying Thing: Lewis doesn’t sweat. Well, okay, she does, but not when she’s sleeping. Which is weird, and—in her words— _freaky_. Imagine your gi— your soulmate’s mistress unrolling herself from the blankets she’d hogged after a night of lying beside a furnace in a slightly not-that-cold room, and she’s not even the least bit sweaty.

It’s. annoying.

Third Annoying Thing: Seeing Lewis in the morning, messy-haired, bleary-eyed and bed-rumpled? …okay, that might not really count, because it’s _not_ as terrible a sight as he’d convinced himself it would be, considering that she only slept in a shirt that barely fell to her belly, let alone hid her bare pussy, and especially since Steve has taken to waking her up with his mouth on her cunt, as if rewarding her for still being there when they got back from their run. Though he can’t really complain about that, considering how often he wakes up with his cock in Steve’s mouth, and how much more morning sex they were having compared to the days before Lewis started sleeping over.

Okay, that’s not helping either.

Fourth Annoying Thing: What _was_ up with the shirt?

“This,” he says, tugging at her shirt once she was free of the blankets, “is startin’ to annoy me. Is it startin’ to annoy you, punk?”

“Little bit,” Steve agrees from where he’s watching them, his hand drawing circles on her bound feet that has her squirming to get free, but fails, because, y’know, super-strength. It’s both amusing and arousing to see her try, particularly because it means she’s clenching her ass around the plug they’ve taken to slipping inside her ass at the start of their nights. Steve had slid it inside her this morning on what seems like a whim, but feels like the beginning of a master plan, considering he'd cleaned it up first. “Let Bucky take it off you, sweetheart,” he adds. “We miss your breasts.”

She manages to roll her eyes in between gasping and wriggling for freedom. “Of course you do,” she says breathlessly, giggling a little and jerking when Steve lightly scratches at the sole of her left foot. “Such— _mm_ —men.”

“Let Bucky take it off you,” Steve asks again. “It’s been over a week since we last saw them.”

“No,” she says again, firmer this time. “No, I’d rather come from a spanking again.”

He smiles. “You sure about that, doll?” he asks her, smoothing his hands over her arm firmly, leaving the tickling to Steve. “Because as I recall, you couldn’t sit down for two days without running to your room to fuck yourself. Which,” he tacks on, “we still want footage of.”

“I think we can get her to cough it up,” Steve offers, making her squeal and laugh and shriek and gasp as he starts scratching his nails at her foot in earnest, causing her to grind back into the bed as she twists to try and escape his grip. “See? M’sure we can work something out in exchange for those videos.”

“Or her shirt,” he points out. “What’ll it be, doll? Steve’ll stop if you give us one of those.”

She’s a little too busy cackling and (obviously) building herself up to an orgasm to actually answer.

Hey! Fifth Annoying Thing: Her _laugh_. High-pitched, giggly, stuttering and just so delighted, he can’t help but smi—

Okay, not that either.

“Punk, stop that,” he says, pressing his lips together to keep from grinning, torn between bringing the Winter Soldier back out and keeping him back. His other self has been present far too often recently, and he knows that’s not good.

There was a reason he was called an alter ego, after all.

“Let the lady talk, huh?” he adds.

Steve obeys, sliding his hands up her legs, and Lewis shoots him a glare. “Fuck,” she pants, giggling. “Fuck, you two are assholes!”

“So?” Steve asks, making her jerk up when he briefly digs his fingers into the ticklish spot they’d long ago found behind her knees. “What’s your answer?”

“And to be clear,” he adds, nodding to her feet, “Steve ain’t gonna let you come like that.”

“ _Assholes_ ,” she emphasizes, trying to calm down but snickering every other second. “But I think I wanna see how far you can take me first. Can you make me beg for it, Steve? Make me beg for an orgasm? Maybe you won’t be able to tell when I’m close. After all,” she adds, smirking, “I’ll be a little too busy laughing.”

He gives into the smile as Steve grins down at her. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

“Sure,” Lewis nods, and looks confident about her chances of winning until he slips the plug out of her ass. “Fuck.”

“No cheating,” he smirks at her, setting the plug on the nightstand, out of her reach, before wrapping his hands around her wrists and holding them over her head. “Whenever you’re ready, punk.”

(She has JARVIS cue up the video after a full thirty minutes of laughing and crying, which, while an impressive amount of time to hold out, still couldn’t top the nine minutes it took her to come from him spanking her ass.)

*

“ _Hohfuck, god, **yes!** God, aghhh, yesyesyes, fuck!”_

“Jesus,” Steve gapes as he and Barnes watch video-Darcy rock her body almost violently on the bed, grinding against the toys inside her body as she came.

“Please,” she moans, writhing on the bed, the memory of that orgasm coming back to add to the buildup roiling through her veins. “Please, I showed it to you, please let me come.”

He wasn’t going to, she knows. Steve had four months to know what she likes him to do when he was in charge, knows exactly how she likes to be treated, and right now, _it was morning_. And despite what Barnes had told him, Steve has control in the mornings.

“Whaddaya think, Steve?” Barnes asks, looking down at her from where he was sitting above her head, hands still clamped around her forearms. “Good enough?”

“No.” Darcy sucks in a breath as the denial rouses both a thrill and desperation through her. “Not yet.”

 _God_. She was burning so hot she feels ready to blow and _he wasn’t helping_. “ _Please_ ,” she half-growls, clenching her muscles, but doing so was useless without something to bear down on. “Steve, _god_ , I don’t tease you this much.”

Steve sees what she’s doing and forces her knees apart. “No, you don’t,” he admits, shifting into the space he’d made so she couldn’t put her legs together again. “But I’m not you,” he adds, smirking, and _this_ , _this_ is why she enjoys it when he took control of their time together. He builds her up too high and leaves her hanging for just a little too long and _fuck_ , but she _loved it_. Darcy had always been one for instant gratification, but that was back then. Right now, the need and desperation was lovely and wonderful and far better than feeling nothing. “Tell us what you were thinking about while you fucked yourself.”

 _Dear god_ , she could just _cry_ and kiss him for his teasing.

“You!” she practically shouts, eyes watering with frustration. “Both of you, I was thinking of both of you.” A small noise escapes Barnes’s throat, making her look up at him. “I was thinking about taking you both,” she says breathlessly. “I was wishing it was both of you.”

“We can do that,” Steve tells her, and her blood _sings_ at the promise. “We can do that, sweetheart. Bucky, give me the plug.”

It takes a moment for Barnes to do so, and for a moment, it truly feels like their roles had been reversed, Steve doing the talking while she and Barnes did as he asked. Darcy shuts her eyes and whines as he rubs the slightly sticky-dry plug along the wetness on her thighs, soaking it thoroughly before sinking it back into place, drawing a happy moan from her as she feels it stretch her out again.

And then Barnes snaps out of it, suddenly in full form. But this time, it isn’t just Steve he drives a little crazy with his words.

“Like it?” he asks her, hands sliding up her arms to wrap around her elbows, thumbs digging slightly in just above the joint, and she gasps as it sends a jolt of _something_ through her, the feeling swirling up her breasts and down between her thighs. She closes her eyes and groans as the aftershock of the sensation rolls through her, straining her hands up and around to grip what she could of his arms. “You like getting your asshole stretched by that plug?”

“Yes,” she answers, low and needy even to her own ears.

“But it’s not the plug you want, is it?” he says, stroking his thumbs over that spot he’d pressed into and making her hope he’ll do it again. “You want Steve’s cock in its place.”

 _No_. The answer comes to her instantly, surprising her so much her eyes fly open.

“No?” Barnes asks, confused, and she realizes she had said the word aloud and flushes. “You don’t want Steve’s cock in your ass?”

Her mouth feels dry, because the answer to that question was…

No. No, she _couldn’t_.

He shifts, his left hand moving her wrists together to keep them over her head as he moves, sleek and graceful, from his place above her head to lie beside her. Darcy shudders at the sudden intimacy of their new position.

“Talk to me,” he says, his eyes darkening, face twisting with something that looks a lot like _awareness_. “Answer me.”

“No,” she breathes, panic threading through everything else she was feeling and making her shake, making her eyes sting, making her breathless with—

“No?” he presses, fingers flexing over her skin. “No, you won’t answer?”

“No—” _I won’t answer_ , she was going to say, but then she feels something roll the most sensitive part of her, and her mind skitters from rationale, “I want _you_ there.”

She freezes, horrified.

His pupils blow back, wide and dark, and she sucks in a breath and shudders all the way down to her toes. “Yeah?” he asks. “Why? Why do you want me in your ass, sweetheart?”

A sob escapes her. “Please,” she begs him. “Please—” _no more_. _Don’t ask me that. Don’t make me say it_.

His face flashes with something she shies away from, and then he looks up, and Darcy finally remembers that they aren’t alone. “Fuck her,” Barnes says, and Darcy feels her tears fall in relief.

 _Steve_. It’s Steve, she’s here for Steve, just for Steve.

“Please,” she sobs, forcing herself to look at the man she was in love with, the man she came here for, the man who put her in this positi— “Please, Steve, Steve, I can’t take it anymore, I need to come, I can’t come, I need to come, I’m begging you—”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Steve tells her soothingly, already hooking her bound ankles over his shoulders and leaning in, spreading her open for him and pressing in, slow and easy. “I’ve got you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” she groans, pressing her head back into the mattress, her focus centering on that place where he was stretching her out, letting her shy away from ideas and feelings that should never be thought or felt. “Deeper, deeper, I feel so empty.”

“No,” Barnes says as Steve is halfway inside her. “No, you get his whole cock when you come, sweethea-rt.” Barnes’s jaw clenches right before he snaps his teeth around her breast, the sharp feeling making Darcy arch up for more. “Go on, punk. Make her come, help the lady out.”

“You have the best ideas,” Steve tells him, and then starts pulling back out and in, quick and only a little bit not enough.

“Steve—”

“Why do you want me in your ass, Lewis?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” she cries, trying to ignore him and hurry her orgasm and failing at both. No matter how hard or how much she clenches around him and the plug, it _somehow. isn’t. enough_.

His right hand slides over her right breast, squeezing and rolling, and she bucks up, having forgotten over the week how good it feels to have her breasts touched. “Why do you want me in your ass? Tell me.”

“Please—”

He releases her breast. “Why. do you want me. in your ass?” he growls.

“ _Please!”_

“Don’t make me tell Steve to stop,” he threatens, and she cries out at the thought of Steve stopping when she was getting so close. “C’mon, answer me. Why do you want me in your ass? Why not Steve?”

 _Oh, god, no, shut up, mouth, oh god, you can’t tell him the truth_ —

“Because I want Steve in my cunt and _you_ in my ass!” she blurts out, and then sucks in a lungful of air in relief. “Because Steve likes my cunt _more_ ,” she continues, focusing on saying everything except _that_. “He likes sinking in and letting my clit drag on his skin when he grinds up, likes hearing me beg when he does it, likes coming inside my pussy and watching his spunk spill out of me.”

Steve laughs and fills her up twice to the hilt, and she groans in pleasure at the full feeling before whining when he returns to his previous motions, the strokes only keeping her burning and building, but not letting her fall over the edge.

“And me?” Barnes prods.

“And you like my ass more,” she obliges, and his jaw clenches at her words. “You’ve always wanted to fuck it, always wanted to know if I’d come just from you fucking it. And you liked how you made me come on it without touching my pussy or my clit.” She sucks in another breath and flushes. “You wanna see me do it again, count the ways I could come on your cock, and,” she moans at the thought, “count the ways you could make me come just by stretching my ass and pussy at the same time.”

The hand he has on her breast slides up to cup her jaw, firm but careful simultaneously. “You think you have me pegged, little girl?” he asks, his voice edged with something that has her whimpering as a charge fills the air.

 _Yes_ , she thinks, because she’s spent too much time with him that she _knows_ what he wants from her.

“No,” she lies. “I think you’re the one who has me pegged.”

Barnes smirks, releasing his hold on Darcy’s jaw. “Not yet,” he tells her, smoothing his right hand over her breast and down her belly. “But soon. Soon I’ll stretch that pretty asshole while Steve’s fucking your cunt, and we’ll fuck you over and over until you just can’t,” he nuzzles her right breast, “stop,” bites at her peak, “coming,” and parts her with his fingers to find her—

“ _Yes_ ,” Darcy hisses, shuddering and rolling her hips to encourage him and Steve. “Yes, I want that. I want that.”

“When do you want it?” Barnes asks around the hard bud he was worrying between his teeth. “Hm, sweetheart, when do you want it?”

Darcy yelps when he suddenly bites down on her covered breast again, the look on his face a little darker and flushed than before. “Soon,” she answers, remembering briefly that it was morning, and they wouldn’t have the time. They were probably already running late. “Not— not now, but soon.” She whines. “Please let Steve fuck me,” she says, shooting Barnes a pleading look. “I’ve been good, I’ve shown you the video, I’ve answered your questions, please let me come, I need to _come_ —”

“You _have_ been good,” he agrees, nosing at her breast, easing the sting of his bite. “If Steve wants to, then he can fuck you the way you deserve.”

Darcy turns her eyes to him, desperate and a little wild. “Steve,” she gasps. “Steve, please, you promised.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Barnes says, voice a little muffled since he had his face against her breast. “You promised.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Steve nods, looking as flushed and dangerous as Barnes. “Tell me how you want it, sweetheart.”

“ _Deeper_ ,” she hisses. “I want to feel every bit of you, I want— _God! Yes!”_ she shouts as he obeys, sinking hard and deep and fast, his hips slapping against her thighs, and it doesn’t take long until her body breaks and her mind blows and her world blacks out.

*

The last time she did this had been when he blindfolded her. He’d been more than a little panicked, thinking he’d misread her reactions and triggered her into a panic attack and never noticed, and had almost run out of her room naked to find help (yes, he was so panicked, he forgot about JARVIS). But then she woke up a few too-long seconds later and assured him it was normal for some people to pass out after an intense orgasm.

So Steve’s not that worried this time. And actually? Seeing her pass out from an _orgasm?_ Because it was _that good?_

Pretty. damn. hot.

In fact, it’s all he needs to push himself over the edge, bending her pliant, unconscious body almost in half as he presses his face to her cheek and buries himself deep inside her, groaning as he savors the contractions milking him as he comes.

“Holy fuck!” Bucky exclaims, sounding as panicked as he did months before.

“S’okay,” he slurs, still coming and grinding himself into her, feeling her still fluttering around him. “Fuck, God, that’s sexy, Buck, she’s so fucking perfect.”

“Holy fuck!” Steve laughs a little, riding the high of release and the hilarity of his soulmate’s reaction. “Steve, Jesus, is she okay?”

“S’fine,” he answers, nuzzling his nose over her slightly-sweaty flesh and dipping his tongue out for a taste. “Mm, s’really fine. She’ll be okay.”

And, as promised, Darcy rouses again about thirty seconds later. “Holy fuck,” she slurs, and he groans as she contracts around him again.

“Sure looked like it,” Bucky agrees, sounding calmer than he had been moments before.

“Mm, Steve, holy fuck,” she says, and he has to laugh into her cheek at her and Bucky’s identical reactions.

“Good morning,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her skin.

“So, so good,” she agrees, turning her head, and Steve slants his lips over hers, kissing her languidly. She hums, sounding absolutely content, and he feels a kick in his chest, something that feels more like happiness than pride. “I can’t believe you two,” she says, a little muffled. “I think. I like it better. when it’s me. and Barnes. against you.”

“Too bad,” he tells her, kissing her one last time before pulling slightly back. “I was thinking it could be me and you against Bucky now.”

Her eyes sweep lazily up to where Bucky was kneeling, and he follows her gaze to take in his soulmate, his erection still present, hands fisted on his thighs as he watches them with dark eyes.

“Shoulda had you take him in your mouth,” Steve tells her, inspired, and then encouraged when she moans and squeezes around him again, clearly liking the idea as much as he does. “Never seen you take him that way before. S’a shame, he should know what this lovely,” he presses another kiss to her lips, “beautiful mouth can do.”

Darcy clamps down on him and moans again, and he feels a rush of wetness trickle over his softening member. “Is that what you want?” she asks breathlessly. “You want me to take his cock into my mouth?”

“Yes,” he says, seeing the way Bucky’s eyes zero in on her lips, just as they do every time Steve wakes Darcy up in the mornings. “Remember when he told you to get on your hands and knees, let me fuck your mouth while he fucked your sweet pussy?”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she moans, just as she always does when he talks that way.

“Tonight,” he continues, “I want to do that again. But I want your cunt this time, so Bucky can see what it’s like to have his cock in your hot mouth.”

“Fuck,” she trembles, her hips starting to roll, sliding his soft length in and out a little.

He groans. “You do that, we’ll be off to a late start.”

“We’re already off to a late start,” Darcy points out, not stopping. “Let me get you hard again, get you hard while I suck Barnes’s brains from his cock.”

Bucky makes a hurt little sound, and Steve can’t stop himself from grinning triumphantly. “No,” he tells Darcy, who whimpers at both the denial and him pulling out of her. “We don’t have the time for that. But we do have time to get you and Bucky off, don’t we?” he muses, slanting his eyes at Bucky. “D’you want to get off, Buck?”

His jaw clenches. “You know I do,” Bucky answers.

Steve smiles. “I’m going to shower,” he says, looking back at Darcy, who looks back at him with unfocused eyes, “while you lick and kiss and suck that hard cock in front of you until Bucky comes.”

“Fuck, Steve—”

“When I come out,” he cuts Bucky off, “I better see that you made it good for him. Made him come on your tongue and your lips and your face. Or else—” he brushes his nose along her moist cheek to emphasize his next words, “—you don’t get to come again until tomorrow.”

Darcy _shudders_.

“Promise?”

“Yes,” she says breathlessly, and Steve realizes that this satisfied, victorious thrill must be exactly how Bucky feels when Darcy sinks into the scene he’s setting. “I’m gonna do that, Steve, I’m gonna do that for you.”

“Not for me,” he corrects her, eyeing his soulmate, who had yet to move. “For him.” Bucky makes another strangled sound. “Darcy,” he kisses her once more, “you kneel right in front of him and let him see how good you can be for him, hm?” She twitches and nods. “Good girl.”

He pulls away from her warm body, sliding his hand over her slick flesh and drawing a surprised cry from her, before leaning up to yank Bucky to him, kissing him hard and wet and fast. “You little punk,” Bucky gasps when Steve wraps his wet hand around him and tugs at him twice.

“Just for you,” Steve grins, then pushes him gently backwards. “Sit on the edge of the bed, spread your legs, let Darcy in between them so she can take care of you. No hands,” he adds firmly, making Bucky swear before releasing a heavy, shaky breath and turning to obey.

Darcy was already rising, and she scrambles faster to kneel on the floor after Steve swats her right butt cheek carefully, and he waits until he sees Bucky swallow and clench his fists into the sheets as Darcy wraps her lips around the tip of him, her eyes shut and moaning as she gets her first taste of him, before he steps into the bathroom with a smug grin.

(He gets himself off in the shower after hearing Bucky’s familiar shout of release, then has to spend the rest of the day slightly half-hard at the memory of Darcy on his fingers while wearing Bucky’s come on her face.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, every time I try to write something, IT CHANGES ON ME. 
> 
> I DIDN'T MEAN TO LEAVE THIS ON SUCH A FILTHY NOTE, BUT _STEVE_.
> 
> But whatever, because he's deviousNaughtyDirty!Steve. Don't you just LOVE deviousNaughtyDirty!Steve? I think he ships Ducky just as hard as we do. =))


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a romantic with simple (okay, not so simple) dreams, but he's also a wily little shit. Bucky certainly thinks so, and would maybe probably definitely have killed Steve if Darcy hadn't blown his mind and made him forget about being angry at all. He also might not have gathered all his wits back after said blowing, because he's making all sorts of confused and previously terrible ideas come to life (no, not Darcy; okay maybe Darcy too). And Darcy is in denial, as usual, and that makes her go all confused too, to the point that she might also possibly want to kill Steve. Ugh, these two, my god. Good thing Steve's there to set them straight later on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO SEX IN THIS CHAPTER (I just heard everyone twitch and shriek in denial, lol)
> 
> Okay, that was cruel. I wouldn't do that to you after how many chapters of PORN WITH PLOT. Oral sex happens, aka The Blowjob POV that everyone's been waiting for.  
> And... fingering? That counts right?  
> And cliche dirty talk from Bucky. Give him a break, he's having his brains sucked out of his dick, okay?  
> And poor Darcy suffering from orgasm denial for the next few hours, thanks to Steve.
> 
> I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE THEM DO IT! IT JUST HAPPENED! AIEEEEEEE!

Something changed. Steve knows that, because he is never absent when Darcy comes around and the air has never felt this charged and heavy before. He can practically see it, can  _feel_  it and  _taste_  it even, as this  _something_  lingers in between his lovers.

He could say that it might be Darcy’s continued presence in their bed during the mornings. Oh sure, she  _was_  already coming to them almost every night, but now she was actually  _sleeping_  there, something that only used to happen when she overslept. And by overslept, he means she accidentally fell asleep, exhausted by her day on top of their efforts in bed, and would disappear when he got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

And don’t get him wrong; he  _loves_  it, loves having her pressed close on one side with Bucky on his other, loves having the option of watching her sleep, or the option of waking her up by turning her on her back and burying his face between her thighs, simply because he could, simply because she was there to  _be_  woken up. He vividly remembers wishing at one time that they could deplete her energy so much she spent every night in their bed, and had fantasized asking her to move in with them so many times, he’s lost count.

And it wasn’t just so he could have her and Bucky whenever he so pleased; he wanted them to be the people she  _came home to_  at the end of the day, wanted to hear what she’s done, hear her thoughts and her opinions, her past, her favorite things in the world, see how she started the day, see what else makes her do that scrunched look of dislike she sometimes gets when she catches him gulping down raw eggs in the kitchen. He already knows her body, has seen and heard and smelled and tasted and touched every lovely and supple inch of her skin, memorized her warmth and all the depths she had, every dip and curve and sensitive spots.

But he finds himself wanting  _more_.

And speaking of her body,  _dear God_ , the  _sex_. Steve doesn’t think he’s done anything in past week than just have  _sex_. He has never been so oversexed  _in his life_ , not during the War, not when he had been with only one of them. It was as if having them  _both_  available when he wanted them had turned something on inside him (don’t even start about his puns), something that kept making him reach for her, and burying his face between her legs, and waking her up for a round of sleepy-but-somehow-still-incredible sex (her words), even when they’d already finished hours ago, before letting her pass out again.

He’s done it with Bucky. He’d done that with Bucky when they first came together as lovers after he received the serum, and then again when Bucky came back to him and they fell back into bed together. And he still does it, in fact, especially after Darcy joined them, and even more so when she started to spend the night.

And now he was doing it with her.

With Bucky right there next to them, watching.

Well, not  _just_  watching. He likes to touch her, to trail his fingers over the fading and fresh bruises they’d left on her hips and thighs and put his cool hand over her forehead. He’d look her in the eye while Steve coaxes sweet little whines from her throat, while Steve watches them and waits for something he can’t name or put his finger on. But whatever it is, it never happens, because the tension, the charge, remains palpable in the air.

It was eye-opening too, Darcy staying over and evoking these thoughts inside him, because the control he has over them in early morning light is empowering, and though he’s known for a long time why they liked teasing him so much, this was the only time he could equal them both in that aspect. Bucky hadn’t let Steve do that to him Before, always taking the lead once he’d been roused, and Steve hadn’t really tried After, now that he thinks about it, perhaps because he thought Bucky would take control again, but perhaps also because Bucky was still just a little bit fragile, and Steve hadn’t wanted to push him too hard. And after the spectacular sex that almost had Bucky cracking Darcy’s skull with his metal hand, they’d never tried putting Steve in control again. But now, with Darcy next to them—sometimes sleeping and sometimes just quietly watching—Bucky’s far more willing to let Steve take the reins and give and take what he needed.

It’s still a performance, Steve thinks. There’s a sense of showmanship even then, even in the almost-quiet hours of the morning. He’s just not sure whether the status quo remains the same, or if he’s become the actor and they his audience, one at a time.

But what he does know?  _Something has changed_.

It takes him that single week to figure it out, to figure out that nameless  _something_  that lingers around them like a ghost. That one week in which he wakes up in the mornings and has a warm, firm body at his back and lush, soft curves pressed to his front. That week in which he wakes up in the middle of the night, hard and wanting, and can take control of his mouthy, dominant lovers without being subdued or rejected. In those seven days, he watches as Bucky softened more and more when he touches Darcy, smoothing down where he once would’ve scratched, brushing where he once would’ve groped, kissing where he once would’ve bitten.

And then, last night, after he recovers from their efforts to drive him mad until he exploded (and he did so quite happily, as always), he watches them come together, watches his soulmate look up at the woman he's bouncing upon him, her head tilted back, curls bouncing as actively as her heavy, shirt-covered breasts, her lovely face twisted with the pleasure Bucky's giving her, and he realizes  _exactly_  what was happening.

And then  _this morning_  happens. It was accidental, the way everything turned out, because he’d wanted to build them up to the point of realizing what was going on between them.

 _But they already knew_.

It hadn’t been obvious to him before, they had hidden their feelings a little too well, but in retrospect, Bucky and Darcy have been flirting with each other all this time. Thinking about it now, he sees a new perspective, a new meaning, to the shows they've put on over the past four months, and Steve realizes that the performance had been as much for them as it had been for him.

And with his eyes now opened to what lurked behind their dirty banter, even burning with need and desire and arousal, it’s impossible for Steve to miss the chase, the way Bucky pressed and Darcy retreated, hiding behind words and physical desperation. It confirms what he’d started to suspect, and he  _almost_  interrupts them—hell, he  _could_  just interrupt them, could end the whole thing so they could talk things out—but he doesn’t, and not just because he knows that no matter how much they liked  _talking_  to each other, talking to each other about  _feelings_  isn’t going to do anything but make the situation implode in their faces. It’s also because he realizes that,  _if_  he did, if he  _butted in_  (so to speak), then…

Then it wouldn’t have been  _them_. It wouldn’t have been  _their_  choice, it would’ve been  _his_.

So he doesn’t. He keeps his silence, lets himself be relegated to the background, just quietly keeping Darcy’s pleasure boiling at a steady simmer while watching them push and pull and step forward and back, Bucky seeking her answer and Darcy refusing to give it.

And Steve, he’s smart, always has been, even when he didn’t have the body to match his brains and determination, so he  _understands_  why she was so reluctant. Bucky was his soulmate. They belonged to each other, bound together by fate and destiny. And that bond, he knows, is the reason she always left in the past, the reason she thought and believed meant their  _trysts_  with her would be temporary, why she believed they would ask her to leave eventually.

And to tell the truth, he’d feared that too. He’d feared the day Bucky would ask him when they could stop seeing Darcy, stop  _having her_ , in their beds and in their lives, and Steve dreaded telling him he couldn’t stop. Because he loves this girl, he loves Darcy Lewis and he can’t not have her, can’t not touch her and kiss her and be in love with her.

Not without resenting Bucky, at least. And not without resenting Darcy for whomever she would end up with.

But in that moment, seeing Bucky’s hungry, desperate pursuit and Darcy’s blatant, desperate denial, Steve feels the charge rise to its highest point yet, and he realizes he wouldn’t have to, not if he’s reading the signs right. He wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her, to live separated from her for much longer. He thinks he could already taste what it would feel like to have her come home to them.

All he needed to do now was give them a little push, and Steve, judging by the way Bucky’s control had slipped and allowed him to openly react when he asked Darcy to get on her knees and take him in her mouth, had indeed made the right call. He only wishes he’d lingered to watch them—but then again, he could always watch and watch them again on the surveillance cameras if he really wanted to. (Which, he will, but later, when he was alone.)

Steve smiles as he steps out of the bathroom and sees them on the (ruined) bed, kissing, Darcy spread wide underneath his soulmate, the both of them lying less than a foot away from the damaged edge of the mattress, and the charge between somehow faded to it's lowest feel yet.

It hits Steve then, what the charge is, and almost smacks himself for his obliviousness.

 _They never kissed before that night,_  he realizes, remembering how Bucky had yanked her to him, a desperate sound escaping him as he came inside her, and every morning and night after, Bucky would stare at Darcy, would stare at her lips, and Steve finally figures out that it was because he wanted to lean in and kiss her.  _That_ , he realizes,  _was what the charge between them was_.

But that first kiss? That had been a peck, a simple pressing of lips, compared to what they were doing right now.

 ** _This_** _was what was missing before_ , he thinks as Bucky dips his tongue past her lips. The kissing, the closed eyes, the breathing each other in, the silent  _I need you_  that could only be communicated through such an intimate act. Steve can hardly believe he hadn’t noticed it before, but then again, Bucky and Darcy were the flashiest of lovers, showing off too many treats for him to notice the trick.

Somehow though, he doesn’t think he’ll have to worry about looking out for anymore tricks, and (smugly, happily) thinks he’ll be seeing  _this_  happen a lot more often.

He feels his mouth dry when Darcy moves her hand down Bucky’s right arm, her pale hand following the hard limb to where he has his fingers pressed inside her, only for Bucky to pull out and take her hand to put her own fingers against her mound.

“Pinch your clit for me, sweetheart,” Bucky tells her between kisses, and Darcy moans deliciously. “Play with it while I stretch and fuck your pretty pussy with my fingers.” Steve sees the slight muscles of her arm twitching as she obeys, and it doesn’t take her long to start begging Bucky to make her come.

Bucky, despite often denying it, is ever the gentleman, and has her coming again within the next ten seconds, Darcy’s scream stifled by his mouth until she’s calming down and scrambling to keep him against her at the same time. There was a desperation to her grip on him, a frenzy that Steve can’t help but respond to, and he’s quick to cross the distance between himself and his lovers, pressing his hands to Bucky’s back and smoothing up his back.

He grins when he sees Bucky startle, this being the first time he’s successfully snuck up on his soulmate since their reunion, and when Bucky tries to pull back, Darcy lunges after him, tugging him back, clearly not done. He’s fully aware that she wouldn’t be satisfied coming from just their fingers and tongues, her body seemingly only sated when it has something substantial to bear down on, and he can’t help but smile at the day he suddenly has planned for her.

 _And_  Bucky. He tries and fails not to laugh at how perfect the plan was. He can watch the video of them while sending Bucky out after her and set Darcy up for a  _real_  good time tonight, just the way she likes it.

Still chuckling to himself, Steve leans in to press a kiss to his soulmate’s shoulder. “You killed the mattress,” he says as a cover for his laughter. “I take it she was good to you, Buck?”

Bucky swallows audibly as he nuzzles his nose at her cheek. “Yes,” he slurs, sounding drunk. Steve smirks, because that’s how he feels when Darcy’s mouth sucks his brains out too. “She was real good to me, Steve.”

(He stifles his laugh this time, because there was no mistaking the soft affection in his voice, and it seems Darcy had sucked something other than a brain out of Bucky after all.)

*

He could  _kill_  Steve. Jesus, he seriously could  _kill Steve_. Right here, right now, staring down at the brunette sinking between his splayed legs, he honestly thinks he could do it. Kill his soulmate, kill Steve for putting him in this position.

Lewis puts her hands over his feet, giving him a cautious look, as if she’d stop if he asked her to. On one hand, he would very much like to get up and get himself off instead, or bend her over the bed and fuck her, or follow Steve into the shower. On the other hand—

He doesn’t even want to think why there  _is_  an 'other hand' for this matter. He’d always told himself that in bed, at sex, he would be the one who controlled her, who dictated what she could do to him, so that he could be sure she wouldn’t ever make him lose control of himself.

 _He_  fucked  _her_ , and it  _would not be_  the other way around. That was why he was usually on top, whether she was on her back or on all fours, and why he gripped her hips and  _always_  controlled her movements during the times she was on his lap. That was also why he never let her mouth near his crotch (unless he was wearing jeans), and never let her suck his cock, or let her even just wrap those pretty lips around his dick. (He’d never even so much as kissed her until the night she’d come from him spanking her, though the sensation of her lips on his has played on a loop in his mind every time he lets himself glance at them.)

If he’s honest, he’ll admit to having a healthy respect for that mouth of hers, enough that he could fear what it would do to him if he ever let it near his groin, and not be ashamed to admit it (to himself, anyway). Because it was a weapon, her mouth, and he knows that. He’s heard it wreak havoc on Steve’s sex-fogged mind since that first night they fucked for him, filth rolling off her tongue just as easily as it fell from his lips. He’s seen it in action since the first time she dropped to her knees in front of Steve and got him hard and then coming in less than six minutes (which was impressive for her. And Steve, well, as far as he could tell, Steve wasn’t ashamed of it).

And like any soldier would for a weapon he was wary of, he had made contingency plans should he ever find himself faced (so to speak) with it. Faced with the threat of her mouth on his cock, he’d planned to slide his fingers through her hair, clench his fist through it, and take control of the act. He would have to be more careful, because her mouth wasn’t made to be fucked the way he liked to fuck her pussy or her ass, hard and fast and with only enough care to ensure he didn’t break her in two, but that was the only way he could ensure that it wouldn’t be her who made him succumb to relief, the only way to lessen the risk of letting her mouth do to him what it does to Steve, to turn him to limp puddle of superhuman like it does Steve.

But now Steve has told him to  _let Darcy take care of you_ , and his mouth dries at the thought of letting her. And Steve says  _no hands_ , and he nearly actually whimpers, because Steve has taken the option of control away from him before this goddamned show has even started.

He is a soldier without a weapon, facing imminent destruction.

Soft, smooth hands start to slide up his legs, Lewis clearly taking his lack of protest for consent, and he traces her trajectory, predicting that she would wait until her hands are around his dick before lowering her mouth, and makes plans to brace himself when she launches her assault.

Lewis counters his estimation at the same time. Her hands have only traveled up to just below his knees when she suddenly leans in to flick her tongue at his cock, catching the sensitive underside of the head before pulling back and looking up, clearly trying to gauge his response. It takes everything in him to look back at her steadily, to not give his surprise and unwanted pleasure away, and he sees her hesitation at his apparent lack of reaction before it morphs into determination.

 _Shit_ , he thinks as she moves in again, her slick tongue pressing at the base of his dick before dragging up, and then her lips wrap around the tip of him, moaning and sucking lightly as she turns her head up to peer at him with her big blue eyes. He digs his fingers into the sheets, because he’s been hard for a while now and the image is just this side of too much, forcing him to swallow down the groan that fights to escape his throat.

With a soft, slightly moist  _pop_ , she pulls her lips away to slouch back down, and he exhales sharply, tellingly, as she mouths her way back down his length, getting him wet with her spit. He sees her smile at the reaction and would’ve said something to wipe the smugness off her face, but she looks up again and starts pressing kisses up his dick, watching him all the while, daring him to say something, and he clenches his jaw, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.

But he’s fighting a losing battle and he knows it, has known it since Steve asked her to kneel for him, and when she takes him into her mouth again, teeth hidden behind her lips as she finally looks down and bobs her head so that it feels like he’s fucking her, it takes everything in him to stop his hips from responding, from fucking back. And when he could no longer ignore (he doesn’t—can’t—actually ignore it, his body too hyperaware of everything she’s doing to him) the fact that she’s gradually sinking him in deeper and deeper, he clenches his thighs to hold himself still at the thought of her finally taking every inch of him into her mouth.

His silence only lasts until she puts her hands on his hips, as if to hold him back, and  _hums_  while his cock is as deep in as she can take it.

“Fuck,” he can’t help but exclaim, hips jerking at the fantastic vibrations that travels down his dick to swirl within his balls, and it’s only because she’s braced against him that he doesn’t actually fuck into her throat, her body moving with him and keeping his position in her mouth steady. She hums again as she pulls back, sucking as she goes, and then she scrapes her teeth over him lightly, making his jaw slacken at the sensation. “Holy fuck,” he gasps thoughtlessly, feeling the swirl of pleasure churning in his gut and down to his balls.

Her small hands finally touch him, the left cupping and gently fondling his balls while the right pumps his full length, drawing up and almost over the head as she pants for air and looks up at him again. He tips his head back as she does, staring at the ceiling to hide from her eyes, afraid of what she’ll see after his loss of control, afraid of what  _he’ll_  see on her face. He half thinks she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t, wordlessly pressing her lips to his tip instead to dribble more spit over his tip, before her hand smoothed the slick liquid over him, as if she hadn’t already lubricated him enough, and then sliding her hand in short strokes over his head as she holds him up and—

“ _Fuck_ ,” he exhales, giving in and looking down at her, and the combination of feeling and seeing her mouthing at his balls while she fists his cock has him skidding closer to relief.

She hums again and slants her eyes up at him, and this time he watches her back, unable to tear his gaze away. She gives another suck before moving back up, brushing her nose and lips all the way to his tip, her hand sliding back down as she takes him into her mouth. And then she starts blowing him again, bobbing her head at a fixed pace, her hand stroking what her mouth wasn’t taking, and he feels the steady speed and the brushes and touches to his balls start to get to him. When her right hand shifts to spread three fingers over his pelvis, leaving only her thumb and index finger curled around the base of his dick before jerking them in short strokes while tonguing the slit of his dick, he groans long and low in surprise at how good it feels, his stretched legs moving on their own to press back against the bed, bracing himself against the incredible sensations she’s drawing out of him.

The reaction,  _his_  reaction, has her flushing, cheeks tingeing red as her big eyes darken, her pupils dilating until her blue irises had thinned into slim rings, the way they always go when she gets so hot and wet and ready to come, as if having him in her mouth has been foreplay enough to get her to that point.

He  _snaps_ , jaw unlocking and mouth opening to let loose the words he’d tried to keep locked away. He won’t remember until later what he says to her, but it’s telling, it’s so telling they were practically a confession. He asks her to talk to him, asks her to tell him things that just make him  _want_  them too, and he talks her through what he wants from her when she asks him to, which wasn’t much, because it was like she already knew what and how he wanted it, like she was born just for this moment, just to suck his dick and blow his mind completely. The fact that her eyes roll back and her hips rocks against air and her throat  _groans_  around his cock only lets him know he’s not the only one enjoying the moment, and it has excitement shooting through his body at both the vibrations he feels and the little tells she’s giving him.

And then out of the blue, she moves her hand down past his balls to brush a slick finger over his perineum, and he’s done, the simple and unexpected tease proving enough to force him to come.

“ _Fuck!”_  he cries as overwhelming pleasure crashes through him, right before relief begins to soothe the burn in his veins, and he doesn’t really register the ripping sound beside him as his metal hand rips out the foam of their mattress, too involved with the feel of her mouth and the heavy rush of his orgasm. “ _Fuck!_  Darcy, I’m going to c—”

She hums loudly, her eyes wide as she pulls back before he can fuck deeper into her throat, and she continues to pump his dick even as she swallows down the first three jets of his come, before pulling him out of her mouth and closing her eyes, directing his cock so that the rest of his spunk sprays onto her face, spurting over her cheeks and nose and eye and forehead.

“ _Holy fuck_ ,” he groans, eyes wide and arrested at the sight. “Holy fuck,  _Darcy_ , holy  _shit_.”

“Oh, god,” she breathes, right before she licks the tip of him and a streak of white shoots into her mouth by what seems like pure chance. “Mm.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers weakly, slightly unable to believe what he’d just seen, because  _all that?_  Is  _the hottest thing_  he’s ever seen her do to date. “Fuck, Darcy doll, just…  _fuck_.”

Spared from the torrent of his release, her right eye opens tentatively to peer at him. “Good?” she asks, still rubbing his leaking tip over her lips, like it’s one of those colorful lipsticks she likes to wear, and he lets out a strangled groan and  _slips_  up, because that’s what happens when his brains are sucked out of his goddamned cock. But he doesn’t even think about that, he just  _reaches_  for her, sliding his arms down and around her body to grip her ass and yank her up, mashing his lips against hers, unable to resist the loud, beating impulse to taste himself on and in her mouth.

She gasps as he pulls her up and over him, grinding his gradually softening cock against her wet cunt while coaxing her mouth open so he could taste himself on her tongue. And that was probably a mistake, he’ll think later, because tasting his spunk in her mouth shatters him, breaks through him, through his control and his sanity, and he finds himself wishing he was hard again, so he could fuck her into the mattress, cunt or ass, it doesn’t matter, he just wanted to take her, make her come on him too, make her gush over his belly while her pussy milked his dick for more. He only barely remembers not to rip her shirt up and over her, because her request to keep it on was something he and Steve respect despite their annoyance for it.

He grunts as he realizes— “I can smell myself on your skin,” he tells her wildly between urgent kisses. “God,  _fuck_ , you’re incredible.”

She giggles, happy and light like he’s never heard before, and her levity only adds to his own. “Why thank you, sir,” she murmurs against his lips.

Still kissing her, he spins them around, pressing her back to the bed and moving his hands down her legs until he can lift them up high, until he can press her feet to his shoulders and push her knees against the mattress. The movement has her mouth opening wider under his, a moan escaping her as he slides his fingers through her soaked folds to find her clit. “Bring one of your toys tonight,” he says as he tries to focus on a way to solve the problem of not having anything handy to stretch her cunt with, pulling back slightly to look her in the eye. “Something I can use to fuck you for a while after I come on your face.”

She makes a gasping, hiccupping noise, her good eye squeezing shut as he presses his thumb against her clit. “Yes,” she agrees, her voice strained. “Yes, I will.”

“How do you want to come?” he demands, taking in her stained face and the smears he had caused when he kissed her as he starts rubbing her swollen wet nub. “Like this, or with my fingers in your cunt?”

She gives him that choked little noise he likes to hear. “Cunt,” she blurts out frantically. “Fuck my cunt with your fingers, make me come, please!”

He slides his mouth back over hers as he sinks three fingers in, groaning when he abruptly feels and remembers the plug still in her ass. Darcy yanks him closer, her lips sucking at his bottom lip before her tongue pushes past to search and find his own, her hips rolling up again and again to meet his thrusting fingers, the fingers of one hand raking through his hair and scratching at his scalp while the other follows his right arm down to where he’s fucking her with his fingers.

He hums and pulls his fingers out to take her hand and make her touch that sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs. “Pinch your clit for me, sweetheart,” he tells her, swallowing the whine that his words draw from her throat. “Play with it while I stretch and fuck your pretty pussy with my fingers.”

He feels her obey as he moves his digits back inside her, and she starts making the high-pitched noises he’s come to know well when he has his mouth and fingers on her cunt.

“James, please,” she whimpers against his lips. “Please let me come. I’m so close. I’m so close. Please, baby, let me— _ah!_ —let me come.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, grinning as he kisses her once more, then again, before adding, “how could I say no?”

She hums desperately, still nipping and sucking at his lips as he adjusts the angle of his fingers and pounds them quickly against the rough bump in her pussy. Darcy arches up against him and freezes as her cunt starts to milk and gush around him, and he muffles her surprised scream with his mouth until her voice fades and she starts kissing him back urgently, her hands sweeping and roaming up and over his body, like she couldn’t decide where she wanted to touch him.

Big hands suddenly slide up his back to wrap over his shoulders, startling him, because he hadn’t even noticed Steve’s return. And then, like a slap to the face, he remembers exactly what was going on and pulls back from Dar— from Lewis’s mouth.

She whines, yanking him back to her, and he responds with a surprised grunt, squeezing his eyes shut at the confusion now thrumming through his mind.

He hears quiet laughter come from behind. “You killed the mattress,” Steve tells him, pressing a kiss on his shoulder. “I take it she was good to you, Buck?”

He swallows and unconsciously nuzzles at her cheek as he debates lying. “Yes,” he eventually confesses. “She was real good to me, Steve.”

“Hm, clearly,” Steve says, leaning in to lick at one of the untouched streaks on her forehead. He groans at the sight at the same time Steve moans and swallows. “I changed my mind,” he adds, “You’re going to come inside her tonight, and I’m going to eat it out of her.”

Dar—  _Lewis_  whimpers and peers up at Steve with her good eye. “We’re never getting out of this room, are we?”

(Unfortunately, they had to; fortunately, Steve seems to have a plan that’ll make today either extremely torturous or happily bearable.)

*

Darcy was having the most surreal morning. Nothing about it had been normal.

Her usual morning wakeup call? Different. Steve has her coming by the time she’s even aware of anything, and had slid the plug back inside her after assuring her he’d already cleaned it.

Her usual morning lie in while the boys went for their run? Didn’t happen. After putting the plug in, Steve asks her if he could try something new and proceeds to bind her ankles with one of his ties and  _tickle_  her awake.  _Jesus_. Though admittedly, it had resulted in one of the most spectacular orgasms that only Steve ( _so far **shut up brain**_ ) has been able to wring out of her. It had also resulted in [one of] her [secret illicit fantasies of] taking Barnes’s cock in her mouth and [making him putty in her metaphorical hands and] [impressing him with her mouth’s full range of skills and] [just blowing his expectation out of the water and into the stratosphere and] finally getting a taste of what he’s not-so-subtly been keeping from her.

The fact that he was even mouthier than Steve? Definitely made her girly bits perk up in attention. Oh, the best parts, you ask? Okay, here, suck (ha!) on this:

“Fuck, doll. Fuck, you look gorgeous, so good, so pretty when you’re on your knees for me.” (That’s the first thing he says after holding his tongue since she started, and the way he says it? Well, she’s pretty much happy to get on her knees for him  _any_ time.)

“D’you like havin’ my cock in your mouth? Tell me how much, sweetheart.” (Tacky, coming from anyone else. But from  _Barnes?_  Jesus Christ, see her messed up diatribe below.)

“Is that what you want? To stay here and suck my dick all day?” (She cannot  _believe_  she actually said that to him, jeezus.)

“Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’, sweetheart. Already doing well. It’s like you were born to suck my dick.” (Again, tacky, if it came from anyone else. But from that wild look in his eyes, she can tell that he’s just babbling at this point, which she has  _never_  made him  _do_  before, and the knowledge had her tumbling so close to an orgasm, she almost came around the plug.)

“Doin’ so well. That’s good, that’s so good, god, you have such a pretty mouth, sweetheart, so talented and  _hot! Jesus_ , Darcy,  _holy fuck!”_  (Because he apparently likes a little teeth to go with everything else. And, hearing her  _name_  fall off his lips?  _Unf_. So hot.)

“God, Darcy, m’so fucking close, you’re too fucking good at this. Nononono, take me in, sweetheart, let that mouth fuck me a little more so I—  _God_ , that’s it. That’s it, just a little more, doll—  _Fuck! Fuck!_  Darcy, I’m going to c—” (Yes. All that. All this. She wants to hear  _all of it again_.)

All that? All that noise he  _makes?_  That is just  _one_  of the reasons why no woman will look down on her if they knew she got more than a little too hot under the collar while on her knees for a man.

Also? His  _face_ , his  _eyes_ , the way it shifts from blank to hot-and-bothered and going-wild?  _Unf_ , god, she thinks she felt her insides scramble in delirious glee.

Also? Because  _he lets her take control_ , and not once had he put his hands on her. Though, there was that bit near the end when she scraped her teeth on him and he almost forgot himself and reached for her… Ugh, so hot.  _Shivers down her spine_  hot. Because that was the most obvious loss of self-control she’s ever seen him do, and  _she did that to him_.

Blowing James Barnes? Was  _not_  a thing she would turn down doing again. [In fact, she would like to do it him every day, please and thank you.]

And  _then_ , as if  _that_  revelation wasn’t confusing enough,  _he kisses her_. And this wasn’t like before, when he mashed his lips against hers while he came inside her because he saw Steve’s come on her lips. No, this was a full. on. _make out with tongue and teeth_  kiss, performed while he drives her to an orgasm that just  _explodes_  from her.

(Literally. She had  _literally_  felt it explode out of her.)

(Not  _gush_.)

( _Explode_.)

(Holy. Shit.)

And, okay, Darcy would like  _nothing more_  than to say it was the ‘meh, had better’ type of kiss, the one that hadn’t swept her away and made her see fireworks behind her eyes and felt so right her world just  _clicked_  into place. (And not just because of the orgasm that  _explodes_  from her either. The kiss? In a league of its own.)

She  _could_ , however, say that this kiss? Confusing. as. hell.

Because on one hand, it was, much to her chagrined admission, pretty fucking spectacular. As in A-plus, gold star, 10,000 points to Gryffindor (or Slytherin? He did look like he’d be a Slytherin, didn’t he?), please may I have another?

But on the other hand, it’s now become pretty obvious to her that Barnes has a come fetish thing going on, considering that he never fails to kiss Steve when he’s got Barnes’s spunk on his lips. He hasn’t done that to Darcy before because, well, she’s gotten used to preventing the need for cleanup, if you know what she means. Which means she can’t take what he did seriously. And sure, people kiss all the time without feelings getting in the way, so she knows things don’t have to get any messier than they already are. (Shut up, she’s not talking about the come, goddamn it, puns!)

Breathe. Okay, Darcy? The kiss was nothing. Just breathe, and get through the day. Things’ll be back to normal by tonight.

That’s what she tells herself, at least.

Well, at least until Steve goes and licks at one of the white strips on her face, swallows and tells Barnes, “I changed my mind. You’re going to come inside her tonight, and I’m going to eat it out of her.”

What else was she to do but whimper and ask, “We’re never getting out of this room, are we?”

Steve—because he can be a little shit sometimes, she swears—just laughs and sends Barnes to the shower, but not before licking  _her_  off his fingers. No woman will blame her for whimpering  _again_  at the sight of  _that_.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says once the bathroom door closes, leaning in to kiss her while he helps her set her aching legs back down on the mattress, drawing moans from her as he massages the sore muscles, “for being so good to him.”

“My,” her breath hitches when she feels him touch the plug, and she clenches down on it when it starts to move in circular motions inside her, “my pleasure.”

“Was it?” Steve asks quietly, still pressing kisses to her lips. “Did you like having him in your mouth?”

“Yes,” she answers a little breathlessly, enjoying the way he digs his fingers into the flesh of her calves.

“You’ll have him again soon, I promise,” he says, making her moan. “Do you want to come again?”

“Steve, oh god, I don’t think I can come anymore,” she admits.

“All right, all right, I won’t mess with this then,” he says, and the plug stops moving. “I’ll take it out now, okay?” She hums in acknowledgement and groans as it gently leaves her body. “Good girl,” Steve says, kissing her again. “Such a good girl, so perfect, God, Darcy, you’re fucking perfect.”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, flushing slightly, uncomfortable at the word.

He hushes her, then rubs the tip of his nose over hers. “You look pretty with his come on your face.”

“Jesus, Steve,” she laughs. He grins, and then, playfully swiping his fingers at the stains on her face, pulls away, slides down her body and the bed— “Steve!” she yelps as his slick digits push into her while his mouth descends over her, laving his tongue over and over until she was open to a direct assault. “Steve, please, I can’t—” He doesn’t listen, too busy painting her insides with the come he’d taken before licking them back out, and not for the first time, Darcy shudders pleasurably at how dirty Steve can get.

He builds her up until she comes, her next orgasm smaller than the one Barnes gives her, pleasure gently pulsing instead of rushing through her, but it was good too, and Darcy whines and mewls her way through it because Steve takes that release and seems to stuff it back, building her up  _again_.

“Aren’t you two done yet?” Barnes asks just as she feels relief touching the edges of her. “You’re gonna wear her out, Steve.”

Steve hums. “You’re right,” he says, and with one last kiss over against the most sensitive part of her, he pulls away.

“Steve!” she complains, and then squeaks as he tugs her to her unsteady feet, her good eye opening so that she can see what’s happening. “That’s not—”

“I want to play a game today.”

The look on his face makes her groan, already knowing from experience  _exactly_  what kind of game he wants to play. “Please—”

“You’re not going to touch yourself,” Steve says as he helps her walk on her slightly cramping legs, moving past Barnes and into the bathroom. “You’re not going to play with yourself. And you’re not going to make yourself come.”

Darcy keens when he slides his fingertips across her open wetness, her eyes slipping shut.

“Bucky and I’ll find you at random times,” he continues, finding her nub and rubbing it lightly. “We’ll touch you and play with you, but we’re not going to make you come either.”

She whimpers at the promise and bucks her hips, trying to press harder onto his seeking fingers.

“You only get to come when Bucky’s fucking your soaking wet pussy—”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she moans, sobbing a little.

“—and he tells you you can come.”

She whines, pressing her thighs together to try and trap him there, to try and relieve the throbbing ache that’s growing too strong to ignore, but she's too slippery from her own slick, so he glides easily along her skin when he pulls away.

“Look at me.” She opens her eye to see Steve giving her a small knowing smile. “Is that okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and she jerks as he brushes his thumbnail lightly over her right nipple. “If it’s not, I’ll let you come right now, right here, bent over the sink.”

“Fuck,” she shudders, but she already knows what she wants, has known since he told her they were playing a game, and  _he knows it_. “No. God, no, Steve, you know what I want.”

“I do,” he tells her, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “Clean up your face so you can go shower. Wear a skirt, no panties. Mm, and bring your toiletries with you tonight too. You can shower here tomorrow morning.”

Oh, god, _Christ_. “O-okay,” she agrees, and hears water start to run somewhere in front and a bit to her right as Steve tilts her head up to kiss her sweetly.

“You really do look pretty with his come on your face,” he says before she feels him step away, the door closing behind her.

Darcy opens her eye again to find the faucet, and instead finds herself facing a mirror. She doesn’t hear the hurt sound she makes as she takes in the mess of streaks and smears, and also doesn’t even think about it when she scoops off a dollop from her forehead and pops it into her mouth.

“Jesus,” she says around her finger, a little shocked with what she just did.

She hums and shakes her head, trying to shake herself out of her haze as she starts cleaning up, focusing so that she doesn’t  _do that again_ , and instead splashes her face with water and soaps and rinses until her skin was cleared of white. There was a soft, dry face towel on the edge of the sink, Steve probably having put it there while he was distracting her with his… his  _Steve-ness_ , and she uses it to pat at her face before hanging it back in place to dry again and leaving the bathroom.

Steve was nowhere to be found, but Barnes was still there, her pants and panties in one hand, the black plug in his metal one. He was staring down at the latter when she steps out, and only looks up at her when she’s got her clothes back on.

“Don’t wear this tonight,” he tells her as he hands the toy over.

She blinks. “Why not?”

His lips gain a hint of a smile. “Steve has plans for us.”

“He’s in charge tonight?” she asks, though she’s only half-surprised. Steve  _had_  sounded like…  _well, like a man with a plan_ , she thinks wryly to herself.

“Says he wants us to talk all we want,” Barnes nods, “but that he’s callin’ the shots, if that’s all right with you.”

She swallows, dozens and dozens of possible outcomes rushing through her mind. “He knows damn well that’s all right with me.”

He cocks an eyebrow at her. “What’s going on?” he asks, and then does his ‘I don’t like that I don’t know things’ frown.

Darcy flushes at the thought of explaining any of her sick kinks and shakes her head. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough,” she mutters, turning on her heel. “I need to go show _mph!”_

She stares at him with wide eyes, and  _But I don’t have come on my face right now_  darts through her mind, stirring up the confusion that had barely settled down in her head. Barnes stares right back at her, unmoving for several moments.

And then he moves his lips, cajoling hers to open, and she obeys automatically. That sense of  _rightness_  and  _finally!_  rushes through her once more as he deepens the kiss, and her eyelids grow heavy as his tongue sweeps over her bottom lip before his teeth tug gently at it as he pulls away.

Only he doesn’t really  _pull away_. Before she can chase after him, he leans down, breaking what eye contact they had left as he sucks and nips and licks up to her ear, and it’s all Darcy can do to keep upright when he finds that spot under her jaw that makes her moan and bare her throat for more while her knees weaken and more wetness trickles onto her already soaked panties.

“James,” she sighs, too focused on the confusion and lust he’s making her feel to even realize she’d said something, and any possibility of her noticing at all is thrown out the proverbial window when he groans, the vibrations reverberating across her flesh, spreading goose bumps and hardening her nipples and fueling the fire between her thighs.

She feels the world start to spin before it steadies again when her back touches a hard surface, and in another motion, she’s sliding up, his hands on her ass, his groin grinding against hers, and Darcy feels her sanity skitter away yet again. She rakes her fingers through his hair mindlessly, pulling him back for another kiss, and she groans when he obliges h—

“Ahem.”

Barnes goes still and pulls his head away, their lips sliding wetly apart as he leaves Darcy to let her head fall back against the wall she’s leaning against, panting and staring back at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Orgasm?” Steve asks, and she sees him approaching from the corner of her eye.

“No,” Barnes replies, still looking at her with an unreadable expression. “But she’s close.”

Damn right she’s close.  _God_ , she could seriously  _kill Steve_  right now—

“Good,” Steve says, turning her head to give her lips a quick, unsatisfying peck. “Nuh-uh,” he tells her, pushing her back carefully when she tries to chase after him. “You got your touch and your play, and you’re ready come. And you know the game.”

She smacks her head back against the wall with a groan. “No orgasms without Barnes’s say so, and only while he’s fucking my cunt.”

“Good girl,” Steve says, taking her right hand and kissing her knuckles. “Now, much as I like the smell of us on you, you need to shower and grab some breakfast.” He smiles, his eyes glinting with an unholy gleam that makes her shudder against Barnes’s body. “You’ll need your strength to handle us throughout the day.”

(Jesus Christ on a cracker,  _this guy, ugh_ , he’s just  _evil_ , she  _swears_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY JUST KISSED. OUT OF THE BLUE. I WAS AS _SHOCKED_ AND EXCITED AS YOU PROBABLY ARE NOW. ^_^
> 
> Do you know how hard it is to write a blowjob scene from a guy's perspective? No? WELL IT'S HARD. OMG, SO HARD. (Lol, that's what she said.) Please tell me how I did, okay? I NEED TO IMPROVE THIS SKILL =))
> 
> Seriously, I had to write two Bucky Barnes blowjob perspectives, one with Darcy (see above) and one with Steve. Apparently, Steve does things differently (no teeth, more humming), and Bucky likes to guess what modern song is being tuned around his dick. Okay, so maybe the Steve blowjob is more crack than serious, but he's like, more wary of Darcy than Steve, so everything came out serious for Darcy. Well, that's what I think anyway. =P
> 
> Ugh, I just want to SQUEE at these two. Darcy and Bucky, jeez. Good thing Steve's there to push their heads together and go, "Now kiss." Well, not literally. But I imagine that he's certainly going to do his best to put them in those situations, all they have to do is GIVE IN ALREADY!!! T_T


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy shows us her morning routine, reminds us that she's a little bit more reckless and slightly careless than we'd like her to be, and makes us all envy her for how wonderfully frustrating her life can be. Steve and Bucky show Darcy a REAL good time and exhaust her in the best possible ways, and we learn that all it takes to clue Bucky in to what he's feeling is Darcy finally losing her shirt again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we all know that this relationship is beautiful and addicting, but also dark and fucked up. This chapter (I think) really points that out. I don't know if there are squeamish parts, but if you're easily squeam-ed(?) and still want to read this, well, get yourself a glass of water before you start, and pause and drink when you feel _eugh_. (That's my sister's suggestion. I have no idea what that would do, so if you have a better coping mechanism, do that instead.) Tell me if there IS squeamish parts that I miss tagging. I wanna get them all up there right.
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter mentions panic attacks, and contains descriptions of severe bruising and erotic sexual denial (aka orgasm denial). Also, some dubious consent, which will NOT remain dubcon, because I will explain this next chapter. And, a 'Mine-Mine-Mine' possessive thing, on Bucky's part, but that's very brief, and he's not gonna be like that forever. It's just a reaction he has to I-think-you'll-know-what-when-you-read-on. =D

Darcy knows she’s going to be late for breakfast, because on top of a thorough shower [and maybe a bit of self-fondling, because _ungh, so horny, dear **god**_ ] and the awkward walk she’s gained from the position Barnes had held her in for so long her legs had almost cramped, she also needs to reapply the bruising cream on her, duh,  _bruises_.

There aren’t very many of them. Since Barnes arrived and their threesome thing began, Steve hasn’t been as rough with her as he used to be, and the only marks he leaves behind are hickies and the fingermarks on her thighs, from where he grips her just hard enough to leave a light imprint. Barnes likes them on her hips—or rather, he likes to hold her by the hips, so that’s where his marks are. Like Steve, he’s pretty careful, particularly with his left hand, and despite its impossibly dexterous capacities, she’s noticed that he never uses it to touch her between her thighs, never rubs her with it or slips it inside her. She finds out  _why_  the morning after The Butt Sex (again, shut up,  _totally_  accurate, okay?).

Her shoulder and ass had been her main focus that morning because of how they ached, and her breasts  _had_  been bruised, but hadn't been pained, so she hadn’t really given the girls much attention until she was getting ready to head to their room that night. She’d changed out of her second outfit, intending to head on over in just a shirt and yoga pants, and then froze in front of the mirror when she saw her chest.

Her right breast had had fingertip-shaped marks on the tops and side, which, while disturbing to see, was comparatively fine compared to its twin. Have you ever tried Googling the term ‘extensive bruising’? If you do try, prepare yourself to face truly upsetting images.  _That_  was how bad her left breast looked like. It hadn’t been just violet, like her milder bruises, it had been  _dark_  and  _ugly_ , with numerous little crescent welts that she realizes were from the spacing of the plates that let his fingers and hand bend and curl (which was clearly why he never uses it to touch her  _down there)_ , and Darcy had been horrified. That it hadn’t even twinged or hurt had her truly panicking, because bruises that  _look_  like that  _should_  hurt.

If anyone knew, they wouldn’t have blamed her for running straight to Bruce. Well, okay, not  _running_. She was too freaked to head on down to medical on her own, and had feared tipping anyone off, so she had JARVIS call Bruce up to her room, where she could securely engage JARVIS’s privacy protocols.

And Bruce, bless him, he was nice about it and didn’t judge her, though he most certainly did scold her for not mentioning it during her earlier visit.

“I thought you said it was just the bite,” he said as he peered at her bra-clad breast.

“That’s what I thought!” she countered. “I swear, I didn’t notice it, it doesn’t hurt! Bruce, what if—?”

He’d taken one look at her terrified face and nodded, turning professional immediately. “I’ll need to take a blood sample. We’ll do that in a bit. Right now, I need to give you a breast exam,” he said, gesturing to her bra.

“I bet you say that to all the ladies,” she jabbed weakly, unclasping it and letting him poke and prod and basically fondle her left boob, the whole time asking if she could feel what he was doing. (No. The whole time, it was a no, and Darcy had been on the verge of a panic attack.)

She didn’t ask him if he was enjoying himself, because that was tacky and Bruce… he didn’t look like he was enjoying himself. He looked mad, his eyes flashing green at one point before he forcibly calmed himself down.

They eventually made their way to the medical wing, where he took some blood and spent the next three days running tests on it, while Darcy was given some really good bruising cream to help get rid of the bruises (and the bite mark) faster. On day three, Bruce tells her that her tests came back clean, that the drug she’d been injected with almost a year ago hadn’t somehow come back, and that the lack of sensation on her chest was probably just a silly thing like nerve damage or her brain shutting that part of her off because it hurt too bad.

Okay, she was paraphrasing a little exaggeratedly, but it was something like that and really, all she cares is that  _It_  hadn’t come back, that It  _wasn’t_  going to come back. And Bruce said it wasn’t that, so she was gold. (It helped that she started to gain feeling back in her left boob some hours after she got Bruce’s news, thus her returning to Steve and Barnes’s room to celebrate.)

Besides, that cream he gave her?  _Totally_  unreal. Like, it’s only over  _a week_ , but the bruising on her right breast is  _gone_ , and the heavy bruise on the left had already lightened to a more-yellow-than-violet-and-blue color, the welts faded into super-thin lines, and the bite on her shoulder, which couldn't have been that deep since it hadn’t bled, was now just a faint outline of crescent-lined ridges, looking like (and she does so wince at the thought of even thinking it) those vampire bites on Twilight ( _shudder)_.

She smiles at the thought of _finally_ letting the girls get some well-deserved attention again while she spreads the bruising cream on the healing marks on her breast. It was more sensitive now than last week, and would only hurt when she squeezes it as hard as she could, but it still feels like it’s only picking up half the sensations it used to pre-bruising. Perhaps another week using the miracle cream would do the trick?

Once that was done, she walks around topless for a while so that the bruising cream could dry, and was pleasantly surprised to realize that her legs were starting to get the hang of striding properly again. She kills time she doesn’t really have by cleaning her trusty plug, drying and brushing her hair into a style that’s more everyday curls than limp mess, picking out her clothes (she grins as she tugs that turtleneck dress of hers out, knowing it would drive them crazy to see her in it after her confession last week), picking out small bag to put her soap and conditioner in, plus  _a toy_  [because  _J_ —  _Barnes_ ], and then performs the most important task of her mornings and her young life—taking her birth control.

[And okay, she  _may_ have dipped her fingers where she shouldn’t have, per Steve’s orders, but jeezus, how could she  _resist?]_

As soon as she’s dressed, she heads out of her room—sans her overnight bag of course, she’s not even gonna  _risk_  bringing that to work—and walks straight into Steve, who  _literally_  picks her up by the waist and carries her back into the room while hiking her skirt up, tosses her on her largely unused bed, and proceeds to bury his face between her thighs.

“Steve!” she chokes out, startled and rising quickly towards an orgasm, only for him to pull away far,  _far_  too soon. He kisses her, lets her taste herself on his lips and tongue, then pulls back and heads into her bathroom, the sound of running water telling her he’s washing up.

The whole thing takes what feels like a minute.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart,” he says, grinning as he walks by and out her door.

Darcy just  _stares_  at it for a long time, certainly far longer than it took him to ambush her and waltz away.

“Son of a bitch,” she eventually says, and is promptly annoyed (though mostly because she doesn’t think he even noticed the dress. _Grrr)_.

She puts herself back together, washes herself off her face and peeks outside to make sure no more ambushes awaited her before heading to the kitchen. And if she peers around every corner and keeps checking over her shoulder, well, she’s just being vigilant.

Vigilance fails her, however, when Barnes catches her off-guard after she’s had breakfast alone (because like she said, she’s running late) and tugs her into the bathroom just outside and to the right of the kitchen. He crowds her into the door, slants his mouth over hers, pulls her skirt up over her hips, puts her foot on the sink to open her up, then slides his fingers through her folds to fondle her sensitive bud, making Darcy whine into his mouth and part her lips so his tongue can sweep against hers.

“You little tease,” he murmurs against her. “Wearin’ that dress today. You think you're so clever, don’t you?”

She smiles, pleased to see she was right. “Just a little,” she hums, her hips jerking at every roll he gives her. “You like?”

“You know we do,” he answers. “Tempted to feel you come around my fingers again, just for the dress.”

She shudders. “Let me?” she begs, gasping as he slips his fingers lower to press inside, the stretch delicious and relieving some of the ache she feels. “Let me come on your fingers, please?”

“So fuckin' polite,” he rumbles approvingly, brushing his fingertips against _the spot_ that has her yelping and convulsing as her orgasm suddenly looms close. “But Steve says no.” And with one last flick against her, he pulls back and away.

Darcy sobs unhappily at the loss until he raises his wet fingers up, offering them to her, and she wraps her lips around them one by one, cleaning herself from his skin and watching his eyes darken more and more until she’s done and he kisses her again, seeking her taste.

She responds eagerly, letting her mind focus more on the way he’s pressed close to her and letting her body rub against his, rather than focus on why, exactly, he was kissing her when she had neither his nor Steve’s come on her. (It couldn’t be hers—he’d fed her her own slick before and he never used to kiss her then, right? _God_ , what the fuck was goi—?)

He pulls away from her then, the tip of his nose rubbing over hers [and making her heart skip a beat]. “Can’t wait until tonight,” he tells her, and with a quick brush of his knuckles over her bra-covered left nipple, he exits the bathroom, leaving her to recover on her own.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she tells the empty bathroom empathically, and wonders how she was gonna survive until tonight [and why he kissed her, _why did he kiss her???]_.

Steve appears sometime around lunch, passing through the halls of outside the lab and slanting a look at her that has her discreetly looking around to check for watchers before booking it casually and following him into the men’s (thankfully clean) bathroom, where he bends her against yet another sink and laps at her until she’s squirming and choking back moans, before stopping, washing his face, kissing her, then heading out the door.

Darcy has to take a moment swipe some tissue between her legs, lest her dress get soaked again.

The afternoon isn’t any better. Barnes, Steve, then Barnes again, each time in different locations, each time stroking her higher or close to the edge before stopping and leaving. By three, she could no longer concentrate on work, dazed as she was by lust and need.

When Steve swings by to take his turn again, she finds herself begging him to let her finish before he even has her skirt up. Steve just grins at her before sucking and licking and then  _stopping_ , and Darcy’s literally  _sobbing_  when he gets up to wash his lips and cheeks and chin.

“Do you really want to?” Steve asks her, pulling her into a gentle hug even as his foot nudges hers apart to keep her from clenching her muscles. “Say the word and I’ll make you come right now.”

And for some reason, although she really,  _really_  wants to come, she shakes her head and tells him no. Because she’s a little sick in the head that way. Because this, right here, is the best way to remind herself she can still  _feel_. Because the burn in her body doesn’t just mean arousal and a fantastic orgasm at the end, it also means she's going to get a good night's sleep.

And it’s not that she doesn't sleep well, because  _well_  is the only kind of sleep she’s been having since she started sleeping over with them. It’s just... the last time she had the orgasm that’s being promised to her now, she was still sleeping alone, and that night, she had slept without being plagued by nightmares of  _that time_. So yeah, it’s some psychological thing, she gets that, and it’s not necessary anymore, not now that she’s sleep-sleeping with them, but still,  _still_ , she  _wants_  it.

“You’re sure?” he asks, his hand sliding up and down her back soothingly, and it helps to bring her just a little bit down from the edge.

“Kiss me?” she asks.

“Of course,” he murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to hers and letting her control the pace of their kiss until he breaks it, nuzzling his nose to her cheek and breathing her in. “Gotta get back to work, sweetheart.” And with that, he leaves again, and Darcy spends another unproductive hour in the lab, staring at her computer monitor and imagining how the night was going to go.

“Darcy!” She startles and looks up at Jane, who was giving her that unimpressed-but-also-worried look. “What’s wrong with you?”

Darcy, figuring it was better to head the monster off before it reared its genius head, answers honestly. “I’m horny.”

Jane blinks, then sighs exasperatedly. “Are you going off to see  _him_  again?”

She blinks back at Jane. “Actually I was gonna spend the night in with some of my favorite toys,” she says. “But that’s a good idea.” As Jane’s eyes widen and her hands start waving in front of her frantically, Darcy acknowledges that she only feels a little bit bad for messing with Jane, because her pint-sized astrophysicist has been on her case about her ‘secret abusive boyfriend’ since she first discovered the bruises Steve left on her hips and honestly? It was  _really_  getting on her nerves. Jane is not her mother or her big sister, she is Darcy’s friend and, yes,  _employer_ , which means she cannot dictate what Darcy does in her life outside of work.

“What? Nonono! No, staying in, that’s a good idea, Darcy, I could h— well, no, I can’t,” Jane backpedals quickly, making Darcy crack a grin, the ever-present frisson of desire subsiding in the face of this piece of humorous intermission. Jane takes a deep breath. “Staying in is good,” she tells Darcy. “Do that.”

“You’re probably right,” Darcy agrees, much to Jane’s clear relief. “It would take too long to get to the… well, to our meeting place, so better that I take care of this myself.”

“Where is that, again?” Jane tries and fails for nonchalance.

“Nice try, Jane.”

(It wasn’t, really.)

*

“I don’t think there are any more places we can take her to,” Bucky tells him, frowning up at the layout of the lab floor hovering in front of them.

Steve smiles. “So let’s stop,” he says.

“Mean,” Bucky grins, shaking his head. “But okay.”

He presses his lips together. “It’s the dress, isn’t it?”

His soulmate groans. “She’s a fucking tease and she knows it.”

With Bucky in agreement, they both don’t see her again until dinnertime, in which she spends an hour looking impressively composed, considering the day they’ve put her through.

“You  _assholes_ ,” are the first words she says to them as soon as she’s through the door. “Do you have  _any_  idea how awful the last  _six hours_  of my  _life_  has been!”

Steve grins, enjoying the flushed look on her face, the way her nipples poked slightly through her dress, and the tight grip she has on the black satchel in her hand. “Do you have any idea how good tonight’s gonna be for you?” he replies, and has the absolute pleasure of watching her mouth go slack, her annoyance replaced with desire. “Come here, sweetheart.”

She goes to him almost mindlessly, dropping the bag to the floor as she wraps herself around him like a vine. He pulls her close, opening his mouth to her frantic kisses and letting her rip his shirt off, the buttons snapping and popping as they bounce off her and his chests and scatter across the floor and the (still-ruined, since the new one wouldn’t be delivered until tomorrow) mattress. Steve groans as she grinds her crotch over his, and hikes her skirt up until he can feel her bare skin under his hands. The sound of a book closing behind him reminds him of Bucky, and of the purpose of their game, and he stifles a laugh, pulling his lips from hers before gripping her steadily and spinning them both onto the mattress.

“You know the rules, sweetheart,” he reminds her, and for a moment, she lets out a little sob, arching her back to rub her hips against his.

And then she opens her eyes to look up at Bucky and asks, “Please, can you fuck me now?”

Bucky looks at Steve and grins. “Such a polite girl,” he says, then affixes himself so that he could sit up against the headboard. “Come here, doll.”

“Wait a minute, sweetheart,” Steve says, pulling Darcy back down carefully. “I think I promised Bucky another taste of those pretty lips.”

Darcy grunts impatiently. “You said you changed your mind.”

“About him coming on your face,” Steve specifies. “Not about you taking him in your mouth.” He smirks. “Or me fucking your pussy.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she moans, pressing her face to the mattress. “Please, please, please—”

“No.”

She whines, then pushes up, hooks her fingers into Bucky’s pants and yanks him forward by the hips, startling him so much he barely manages to stop himself from knocking his knee into her side.

“Fuck, Darcy, don’t  _do_  that,” he snaps, turning a little red.

“Shut up!” Darcy snaps back, tugging at his belt buckle. “I’m gonna put my mouth around your dick. You’re going to fuck it until you’re ready to come, then put your cock in my cunt and fuck me until both you and I come.”

Bucky puts his hands on her wrists and pulls her off him. “Look at me,” he says firmly, and Darcy stops struggling to obey. “Calm the fuck down before you hurt yourself.”

Even from this angle, Steve can see her chin tremble. “M’sorry,” she tells him, and the hitch in her voice only adds to her pained tone. “I will. I’ll calm down. I won’t hurt myself, I’m sorry—”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells her, and her mouth clicks shut. “Steve, I don’t think she’s joking about needing to get off now.”

Steve grins and slides his palm over up her thighs, dragging her skirt up again. “No,” he replies, and Bucky shoots him a frown while Darcy lets out a frustrated sound. “Come on, sweetheart,” he cajoles while sliding his fingers into her. “I know what you want. I know this is what you want.”

She grips him tightly, rolling her hips, and he pulls away, much to her already extended frustration. “Steve—”

“Go on, sweetheart,” he says as he rises to pull his clothes off. “You take care of Bucky, let him get himself hard for you while I play with you a little, build you up a little higher. You know it’ll be good.”

She moans and pulls back from Bucky to undo his pants, her hands trembling as she unbuckles his belt.

Bucky's still frowning at him. “Steve, what the fuck—?”

“Trust me,” he tells his soulmate as he shucks his pants off. “She’s gonna enjoy the hell out of this.”

“It’s okay,” Darcy speaks up, and Bucky looks down at her as she pulls him carefully out of his underwear. “It’s okay, trust him.” And then she sinks her mouth over his half-hard length.

Steve pumps himself thrice before sliding into her, and Bucky bites at his bottom lip as she moans around him. “Don’t come,” he warns her. “Do you hear me, sweetheart?” He waits until she moans affirmatively before looking at Bucky, whose hands slide into her hair at the sound. “Two minutes,” he says, “before you’re allowed to say you’re ready to fuck her.”

Darcy whines as she hears this, and Steve pulls out and pushes back into her roughly, making her yelp and moan.

“Better hurry, Buck,” he grins. “Darcy’s about to cry.”

Bucky bites off a swear and starts pumping his hips carefully. “I didn’t realize you were a fuckin’ sadist, Steve,” he growls.

Steve’s grin only grows wider. “Hear that, sweetheart? I’m a sadist, he says. Am I sadistic?” he asks her as he starts to move, slow and sporadic, just enough to stimulate her, but not enough to bring her to and over the edge.

“No,” she tries to say.

“Why, thank you,” Steve tells her, pushing in until he’s flat against her and guiding her hips to grind into him before pulling out again.

He does this for the next minute and fifty seconds, taunting her a little and earning confused, disapproving and curious frowns from Bucky and delirious, incoherent sounds from Darcy, until Bucky finally pulls out of her mouth.

“I’m fucking her,” he growls. “Now.”

Steve grins. “Then get your clothes off and sit down already.”

His soulmate is naked and settling back into position within the next seven seconds, and Steve helps a shaking, weak-kneed Darcy straddle him, letting her lean back into his chest as he helps her sink down on Bucky’s lap. Darcy groans, her head tilting over his shoulder, and he turns his head to lick at the sweat-moist skin of her jaw, making a note to get her dress off. The turtleneck had a thick weave, and he doubts she'd be comfortable sleeping in it.

And if she's not wearing anything but a bra underneath, well, at least he can finally check on the damage she's been dead-set on keeping from them.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky breathes. “Fuck, sweetheart, Steve got you so goddamn wet, I’m sliding right in.”

“I know,” she murmurs, her words slightly slurred. “I know, it feels so good. You feel so good.”

“I want you to talk to Bucky, Darcy,” Steve tells her quietly. “I want you to let him know how to make you feel better.”

“Yes,” she whispers, mindlessly starting to rock her hips. “Yes, fuck me, please, move, I need to feel you m _ah!”_  she exclaims, the grip she has on Bucky’s biceps tightening as Bucky fucks up into her, rough and hard. “Yes, please, that’s it, more, I need it, I need you, I need you, I need you, I need you—”

Bucky’s eyes gain that wild, heated glint right before he tugs Darcy out of Steve’s grip to spin her over and put her back to the bed, lips finding lips.

Steve can’t help but think that he could  _not_  have planned this any better. Seriously.

He hangs back and lazily—smugly—pumps his slick length as he (for the however-many-eth time in four months) watches them, Darcy with her pale, smooth legs wrapped high around his soulmate’s waist, still wearing her dress and flat shoes and somehow looking like the sexiest creature on Earth anyway, and Bucky completely naked, the shadows in the lines of his muscular body complimented by the dark shade of her dress, the both of them together looking like a couple on the cover of an erotic novel, one that Steve would probably even read, especially if their dialogue was anything like his lovers’.

“Harder,” Darcy murmurs between kisses. “Please, please, fuck me harder, let me come, let me come around you, I’m so fucking close, so fucking close, pleasepleaseplease, let me come—”

Bucky obeys, moving his lips up her jaw as his hips slap against the backs of her thighs, his speed gradually increasing until—

“There!” Darcy wails, pulling away from his mouth to arch up, her fingers dragging down his biceps, scratching silently into skin and making  _tink-tink-tink-tink-tink_  noises on metal. “Right there, right there, right there, right there, yesyesyes _yes_ —”

Steve does his best not to laugh as he opens his mouth. “ _Darcy_.”

She gives a surprised jerk and visibly stops herself from coming with a small gasping hiccup. “ _Please!”_  she cries, moving her hand to her forehead, as if doing so would help her keep everything in until she was given permission to let go, “ _please_ , can I come, please, I need tocome, I needtocome,  _Ineedtocome_ —”

“Yes,” Bucky hisses, shooting Steve an annoyed look. “Yes, sweetheart, you come right on me, squeeze around me, darlin’, you can do it, you come for me, come for me right now—”

Darcy's face scrunches as her mouth locks open and she draws in a deep breath, body going rigid, and Steve's grin turns knowing right before her hands move up Bucky’s back to clutch desperately at his shoulders while her back arches and her body jerks up, stuttering little whisper-screams escaping her as she orgasms.

“ _Holy fuck!”_  Bucky exclaims, eyes wide as he feels her coming around him, only making Steve’s smile widen, and he quietly laughs when he sees Bucky’s stunned expression when Darcy falls back into the bed, limp and unconscious. “Holy—” Bucky jerks forward, burying himself deep and pressing his forehead into the mattress, “— _fuck! God!_  Oh,  _shit! Aghhhh!”_

Steve’s a little too busy being smug and laughing to himself to come with them, but he sure as hell watches every second of this moment, taking in Bucky’s grinding hips and the way he moans deliriously into Darcy’s neck, clearly enjoying himself the way Steve had this morning.

“Oh my god,” Bucky whimpers, still shuddering and rocking into her raised hips. “Oh my god.” He pushes up slightly to pepper her lips with kisses. “Fucking amazing. Jesus Christ. Where the fuck. did you come from? Fucking perfect. Jesus Christ. Jesus _Christ_.”

“You,” he adds after several moments of panting for breath, “you little punk. You planned this.”

Steve grins shamelessly and leans in closer. “And you enjoyed every bit of it,” he agrees, nudging Bucky’s head up for a kiss.

“I love you,” his soulmate slurs against his mouth, making affection and love and joy blossom through Steve’s gut.

“I love you too,” he answers, pressing another kiss to his lips before doing the same to their lover until she rouses over a minute later.

(“Holy fuck, you little shit,” she slurs into his mouth, making him snicker at how similarly they reacted to certain things.)

*

Unlike this morning, Lewis doesn’t recover from her black-out orgasm. She remains loose-limbed, her movements sluggish and seemingly intoxicated, her words a little less creative than usual and murmured in low, almost quiet tones.  _Like_  this morning, Steve continues to push her, push her body to its limits and straight past it, so much so that he worries Steve might drive her into an unconsciousness that’ll put her out for hours, or into a coma, though Steve assures him she’ll only need to sleep it off, and would be even chipper than normal in the morning.

Lewis agrees and doesn't ever tell them to stop, especially after they reduced her to just saying their names and  _yes_  and  _oh my_ _god_  and _please_.

…okay, so maybe he’s a little smug about that.

“James,” she keeps saying, her hands limply clutching at his wrists, her legs up only because he’s got them over his arms. “James, James, please.”

She’s not the only one who calls him James, he thinks randomly. Natalia calls him James. Thor, Banner and Pepper call him James. Barton and Foster and Selvig call him Barnes. Stark seemingly can’t decide what to call him, cycling through variations of his name and nickname, pop culture references that apparently apply to him, and also often his surname when the topic gets serious. Steve’s the only one who calls him Bucky.

But somehow, hearing the name from her, from Lewis, it sounds like praise, like reverence, like affe—

“James,” she whimpers, and her pussy floods and clamps around him. “Oh, James.”

“So beautiful,” Steve murmurs, kissing her still-covered shoulder. The dress was still on her, Steve only pulling her flats off and saying they couldn't undress her until she gave them permission, but the way Steve’s been touching the damn thing, he was starting to think that maybe this whole  _sex her into exhaustion_  thing was so that they could finally get her consent to get her naked again. “God, you're so gorgeous when you come, Darcy.”

“Steve,” she hums. “Steve.”

“Let’s get you ready for bed, hm?” Steve says, smoothing his hands up her exposed belly until he reaches the bunched up hem of her dark dress. “Get you out of these clothes.”

“Steve,” she breathes, and he presses his lips together to keep from laughing. (But really, he’s enjoying this new side of her he's never seen before, enjoying the way she was so drunk on orgasms she can barely move or even keep her eyes open all the way.)

“Can I, sweetheart?” Steve asks quietly, kissing her cheek before nuzzling the tip of his nose over hers. “Can I get you ready for bed?”

“Mm,” she says, her body going loose and limp. He holds his breath, knowing she was about to drop off to sleep. “James?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he says, and then chastises himself for the use of Steve’s pet name for her. (It was apt though, with her looking like this, blissful and just so out of it.)

“Finish?” she slurs, almost incoherently.

“Steve can get it,” he says, grinning at Steve, who rolls his eyes at him while fiddling with the fabric over her ribs.

“No,” she groans, her hands twitching around his wrists. “Me. Now.”

He bites his lip on a groan at the permission and tells himself she doesn’t know what she’s saying, that she’s not conscious enough to  _give_  permission for that. “Next time, doll,” he tells her.

“Please?” she says, peering up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Please? I want. I want…”

 _Jesus_ , he thinks.

“Give the lady what she wants, Buck,” Steve tells him with an amused smirk, then turns his eyes back to Darcy. “Sweetheart, can I get you ready for bed while James fucks you?”

She whimpers, her body twitching, and the motion has him sliding out of her just a little. “Yes,” she whispers, turning her head to look—well, squint—at Steve.

“I can?” Steve presses.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Steve replies, slanting his lips over hers languidly before pushing up so he can tug her clothes over her head. “Go on, jerk,” he says, shimmying up the bed. “She’s been so good today, we oughta do as she asks.”

He presses his head to her shoulder. “She’s half-unconscious, punk,” he argues.

“And yet you’re still inside her,” Steve counters. “Trust me, she’ll be half-gone on the thought when we tell her. And get up so I can get her dress off. She needs to cool down and it’s not helping.”

He pushes up and pulls out, enjoying the tight slide of her cunt around his dick, then sinks in again, giving in. Dar— Lewis hums deeply as he starts fucking her again, her head moving just enough to look at him.

“James,” she slurs again, and he can’t help it—as soon as Steve has her dress off her head, he bends down and slants his lips over hers, thrusting harder into her pliant body as he feels his arousal build higher and higher. It takes a moment for him to recognize the feel of her bra and slick flesh on his chest, and he moans happily, having missed the sensation of her skin on his.

“Oh god, Bucky,” Steve whispers, strangled. “Fuck, I almost forgot how good she looks under you.”

He groans at the thought of what they might look like from Steve’s perspective—him stretched out over her, her soft curls messy on the mattress, her pale legs hanging from the bend of his arms, bra-clad torso pushed against his chest—and gives in to the impulse of sliding his hands out of her grasp to cup her full breasts, bending her body just a bit more now that he’s moved his arms up.

“Jesus fuck, doll,” he says against her lips as he feels her soft skin. “God, I missed your tits.”

She moans as he squeezes them carefully, then tugs her bra down and moves to suck at her right nipple. “Oh god!” she cries, sounding more energetic than she had earlier. “Oh god, James.”

“Fuck,” Steve hisses, and he feels his soulmate slip to their side and expose her other breast, Steve’s hair brushing his as he bends to suck at it too, humming happily as he does so.

Darcy jerks as her pussy ripples around on him and gives a weak wail as she comes again, and he moans around her tit and follows her over, still sucking at her as he lifts her hips and fucks into her harder while shooting his load into her hot cunt.

“Oh my god,” he pants into her breast as he slows and finally sinks himself all the way in to savor the feeling of her clamping down on him.

Steve makes a rumbling sound in response. “Missed this,” he says muffledly.

“Uh-huh,” he replies a little absently, too busy reveling in the feel of her to really think about anything at the moment.

Steve hums again. “This is healing nicely,” he murmurs, and the words take a few moments to sink in.

“Huh?” he asks, raising his head and looking down at her left breast. “What the—? Fuck,” he swears, seeing the faded bruise on her skin and the light ridges that proclaimed exactly where she got the mark. It doesn’t take him long to remember when it could’ve happened—hell, he’d guessed at it a while ago even—and realizes why Lewis has been asking to keep her shirt on since she came back from her three-day absence.

“S’pretty,” Steve says, bending again to lick at one of the thin lines. “Could tell instantly where it came from with just a look.”

“I— What?” he asks, confused, because he was just getting started on his internal self-flagellation and was expecting a short but highly effective lecture about treating Darc—  _Lewis_  right from Steve. Because despite what it might look like to others (like the other residents of the tower), they’ve always strived to treat her well, to be good to her (which, admittedly, hadn’t been a real priority to him in the past), and it hadn’t taken him long to realize that leaving marks on her hips and thighs really was part and parcel in their new sex dynamics. Steve, however, had long ago declared her breasts off limits to bruising due to them being so sensitive ( _despite_  Lewis saying she wouldn’t mind if they did), so this whole…  _blasé_  reaction was really putting him off-balance.

Steve blinks at him and releases her hard nipple with a pop. “What?”

“…you’re not mad?” he asks.

“Why would I be?” Steve asks back.

“I— You said no bruises on her breasts,” he reminds Steve, who nods.

“I did,” comes the reply. “But this,” Steve slides a fingertip over the yellowed skin, “wasn’t intentional. Extenuating circumstances. It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“Who says I didn’t?” he asks darkly, eyeing the damning imprint of his left hand.

Steve gives him a look. “I was watching you two, remember?” And then a smirk is aimed in his direction. “Hottest thing I ever saw, you losing control like that. And okay,” Steve says, “maybe I was a little worried you’d squeezed too hard, but I saw her breast the next morning and it hadn’t looked bad. And I tested it the night she came back too, and she didn’t seem to be in pain, so,” Steve shrugs, “I figured it wasn’t a big deal. And it’s not,” he adds. “Look, it’s already healed this much, and I know you know more about injuries on non-enhanced people more than I do, but this looks like you didn’t hold it with all your strength, right?”

A strangled, confused noise escapes him. “So why didn’t she let us see it then?” he argues, and then looks down at  _Lewis_  to ask just that. “Lew-is,” he stops himself upon seeing her face relaxed, eyes closed and breathing evened out by sleep.

Steve stifles a laugh. “Wore her out, I guess,” he says unnecessarily, and reaches up to rake his fingers through his hair and tilt his head up for a kiss. “You’re good. Okay? Don’t worry about this,” he gestures to her breast with his other hand, palming it gently and brushing his thumb over the healing skin. “She’s fine.”

“S’not like I can turn it off,” he mutters, gingerly touching his fingers to the abused-but-healing mark. Steve was right though, Darcy wasn’t enhanced like him or Steve, so if he bore down on her breasts the way he thinks he had, then the bruise on the left would still be a violent violet-blue, maybe even still blackish in color. Her right tit would also still have evidence of his right hand on it, which it doesn’t.

“There you go,” Steve says as he relaxes, and Steve’s big hand smoothed a path up his right arm.

“Oh, shut up,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss to the bruise and nuzzling it.

Steve chuckles. “You ever gonna pull out, Buck? I’d like a story of my own to give when she wakes up.”

He snorts against D— Lewis’s flesh and braces himself, nipping carefully at her nipple as he slips his dick out of her relaxed pussy. Steve takes his place as soon as he’s moved himself to Lewis’s right, and he slides his hand under her back to undo the clasp of her bra as Steve attaches his mouth to her cunt to (once again) suck his spunk out of her. (He’s both looking forward to and apprehensive of hearing what Lewis has to say to them doing this to her while she’s asleep.)

He’s just sliding her strap off her shoulder when he sees it.

“Holy fuck.”

He sees in his periphery that Steve raises his head curiously, but his eyes are locked on the faint outline over her shoulder.

 _“Christ,” he says as his eyes fall briefly shut, his name on her lips and the slick and hot and tight feel of her getting to him, and he reaches around her waist to slide his hands around her lovely, heavy breasts and yank her up so that his mouth can find the flesh of her shoulder and sink his teeth in, and he thinks **Min**_ —

That night had been intense. It had been intense and mind-rattling and… and the morning after, he hadn’t so much as  _looked_  at her when he got up, had called on every bit of discipline in his body to head into the shower while Steve lounged and marveled at her continued presence in their rooms, and he’d stepped out of the room immediately after hustling Steve into the bathroom. Him not even glancing at her is the reason why he missed the bruise on her breast, and the now-faint imprint of teeth on her right shoulder.

He doesn’t hear Steve chuckle over the blood roaring through his head, beating loudly in his ears, and by the time he’s got his mind back, he’s already fitting his mouth over her shoulder, her body lifted and pressed to his chest, his throat rumbling soundly as he bites down carefully.

“Possessive jerk,” Steve breathes as his wet lips presses a kiss on his own right shoulder. “Shoulda known this was all it would take.”

“Mine,” he mumbles around her flesh again, feeling heady with the rush of… of  _something_  and  _more_.

“Yes,” Steve murmurs, his hands pulling him and her closer, holding onto them tightly. “I’m yours, and she can be yours too. All we gotta do now is convince her to be.”

( _Parameters understood and accepted_ , the Winter Soldier reports, already drawing up multiple tactics for the coming mission.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm trying to guess what some of your reactions will be like, so here are a few things that might've stood out as questionable to me were I a reader of this story.
> 
> 1) DON'T ASK ME ABOUT THE BRUISE DISAPPEARING TOO QUICKLY. That is part of the plot and will be explained. And though I'm pretty sure I dropped some hints in here, for now, the explanation is the bruising cream.
> 
> 2) Bruises take a while to develop. The bruise on Darcy's breast is something I've seen develop firsthand, and it took over five hours to get to the super-dark-and-horrifying shade that I imagine Darcy's looked like. So it's plausible that both Steve and Darcy could've seen the early stages of her bruise that morning, and Darcy disregards it because she didn't feel it aching like her shoulder and ass did. The quick healing rate has Steve assuming that the bruise hadn't been as bad as he and Bucky initially thought it would be.
> 
> 3) Steve isn't being willfully obtuse. He cares a lot about Darcy, but he can't know everything, and he can translate some things wrongly. That said, he knows exactly why Darcy refuses to take her shirt off, and while he respects that boundary she places, he also would like to make sure she's okay, thus his persistence in getting her naked. (Well, that's ONE of his reasons anyway.)
> 
> 4) As mentioned in chapter one, Darcy sees the bruising as part and parcel of her sexing Steve, because Steve is superhuman and he can get a little careless when he's going for the (white) gold. There's also something else there, but we'll get to that. Anyway, just to clarify, Darcy's a troubled young woman, yes, but she's not stupid, nor is she suicidal or interested in self-harm. (If you haven't noticed it, _feeling_ is what she's after, which is why she keeps coming (ha!) back to Steve and Bucky for sex, because that's the best way she can "feel human" and "alive" and remind herself that she's not numb or going numb again. In a way, it's like a reality check for her.)
> 
> 5a) Darcy has lots of kinks that Steve explored in their four months alone together, and one of those kinks was erotic sexual denial (or orgasm denial), because that leads to a black-out orgasm for her, which she really likes (thus her own willingness to go along with Steve's plan, despite being incredibly frustrated already). I also chatted with someone who likes doing this to get a quick overview of ESD, and she said that the longer she was denied sex, the more powerful her orgasm felt and the longer it took her to wake up, which is where I based Darcy's ESD orgasms on. (She called it ESD, instead of the more common term, so this is me respecting my source. You know who you are ;D)
> 
> 5b) Also, we've been going through some of the things on her kink list for a while now (yes, I made an actual list for her), and will continue to do so until the story is concluded. So, YOU'RE WELCOME MY FELLOW PERVERTS! =))
> 
> I think that's most of it. If you have any concerns here that you want clarification on, feel free to ask =D  
> Hope you liked it (and didn't get squeamish?),  
> ~E


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a slight crisis of conscience and tries to figure out when exactly in their relationship he had stopped hating Darcy, Darcy gets more orgasms, has her hair washed, and gets an unexpected promise that she might've obsessed about, and nothing goes as Steve plans that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THIS FIRST!
> 
> Okay, so I have to ask you to give Bucky a break, okay? Because his part is gonna be a little messy and jump around a lot, because hey, none of us can think in a strictly linear manner, and I've kept it as straightforward as I can without ruining that effect, all right?
> 
> Anyway, you're going to see (in his very much biased perspective) just how much of a dick he was to Darcy, and how this affects his changing attitude towards her now, as he struggles to reconcile his sudden affection for her after disliking her for so long. Honestly, he really is this confused messed up individual who's got a scared little boy tucked a way somewhere inside him, afraid of losing everything and being left behind, and (if you squint) this chapter's going to show you why (I hope).
> 
> That's NOT everything, of course. It'll just be a quick overview, and the way his thoughts are expressed, that's not REALLY the whole picture, it's just him focusing on the worst parts of his opinion of Darcy, because he's subconsciously trying to convince himself of how awful and unworthy he is, blahblahblah.
> 
> I'm saying this because, like I said, he's gonna come off as a huge asshole who goes back-and-forth about what he wants and what he thinks should happen, so prepare yourselves, okay?
> 
> The Winter Soldier gets no mention, but only because he doesn't do emotions and confusion. There is the mission, and nothing else for him.
> 
> BUT, at least Bucky's moving slightly forward with his feelings. Darcy's still stuck with confusion and denial over what's happening T_T
> 
> And as for Steve... well, honestly, Steve's part wrote itself, so I dunno. Everybody has off days?

_I shouldn’t want this_.

 _I shouldn’t want this_.

 _I shouldn’t want this_.

 _I shouldn’t want this_.

 _I shouldn’t want this_.

But no matter how many times he thinks the words, he can’t quite let go of the girl with her head on his chest, breasts pressed against his ribs and one arm lying on his stomach, the other bent and tucked under his arm. She’s lying between him and Steve for the first time, Steve pressed flush against her back, his arm stretched over her, their hands tangled over his heart.

He always thought that her lying between them would feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It actually feels the same way it felt when Steve had finally joined him in bed again for the first time almost six months ago.

 _I shouldn’t want this_ , he think again, but he does. He wants this. He wants  _her_.

Not for the first time, he brushes thumb over the mark on her shoulder and feels possessiveness thrum through him. He feels cheated when he thinks of how long she had kept the bite hidden from him—an irrational response, he knows but… but what?

He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand why he feels this way for her, not after so many months of disliking her, of snapping and subtly insulting her. He slapped her ass and called her _doll_ and treated her roughly because he thought of her as… as a  _whore_ , and  _god_ , he feels  _bad_  about it now, but  _why does he feel bad about it now?_

He  _hated_  her. He’d hated her from the moment he realized what she was to Steve, and he’d wanted to kill her for it. And he would have, he  _would have_  if he could, and only didn’t because he didn’t want to lose Steve again, didn’t want to lose his soulmate—the man who saved him on the falling Helicarrier and gave him the means to escape a life of death and orders and HYDRA—over  _her_. Steve was  _everything_  to him, and she’d taken him, stolen Steve from him, and he wanted to kill her for it, but if killing her meant losing Steve, then he wouldn’t do it.

So he didn’t, and instead swallowed his hate back and put forward his proposal, asking her if she was willing to join them— _both_  of them—for Steve. She hadn’t bought it at first, hadn’t trusted him, but he’d come to her with a mission—a mission to make Steve happy—and by  _god_  was he going to complete it. So he told her to tell him what she wants in return, had let her state her own conditions, played on her own desires until she’d rattled off a list and they’d sat down to write up an agreement that’d keep both of them honest and Steve happy.

The competition between them had been accidental (he thinks). Steve had been captivated by her, and he’d taken that a little badly and strove to get Steve’s attention again. She had responded, and then he had responded, and before he knew it, they were both mouthing off, trapped in a contest to see who could make Steve break and come to them, join them, and then he would punish Steve a little for disobeying an order, drive him just a little more insane before letting him come. But Steve, despite twitching and moaning and panting as he watched them together, never gets up, never comes to them, and he was more than a little too proud to admit that the girl was turning the tables on him fast. So instead, he flipped her on her stomach, pulled her hips up off the mattress and slid his dick into her cunt, fucked her rough and fast enough that he startles her a little. But the girl was quick on her feet (metaphorically speaking) and started pushing back and before he knew it, he was coming, filling her pussy with his spunk while she milked him hard for it.

It’s funny, now that he thinks about it. He’d sworn to himself, as she left on wobbly legs, that the first time would be the last time he fucked her, but that promise had been broken a week later, after Steve quietly asked him to do it again during their morning run, and she hesitantly agreed when he sought her out to tell her Steve’s request. That was when they started fucking regularly for Steve to watch. Three weeks after that, the day after he watched her get down on her knees for Steve, his soulmate asked if he could watch them get each other off, a request that was only half fulfilled because he refused to give her control over his pleasure. That was the night he first ate her out, and found that he wasn’t averse to making her shake and shudder and scream that way.

In retrospect, this all really started because he’d asked her to join them. Beginning of the end and all that. But really, it had started building up on that first night, during that first fuck, and it had only grown and grown with every touch and every word until...

Until he made Steve tell him about one of his fantasies. That’s when it all came to a head, wasn’t it? Steve had confessed to him a fantasy that he so happened to share and wanted to happen too. She’d been right when she pointed out that he’d wanted to fuck her ass for a while now, and she probably thought he wanted it for the same reason he  _did_  want it: he thought she was a whore, and he wanted to treat her like one, and what better way to show _her_ what she really is than by making her orgasm just by fucking her ass?

He hadn’t really expected her to agree when he told her about it, but he saw the look on her face and could tell that she wanted to, and at the time, it reaffirmed his opinion of her. The morning of _that day_ , he’d dropped by her room after his shower to make sure she wasn’t backing out, and caught her heading into the bathroom with a cleaner in hand and a butt plug in the other, which pretty much answered the question he was about to ask. And he hadn’t lied when he told Steve about her response to his promise that he was gonna fuck her ass with his tongue—she had squeaked and flushed a violent red before running into the bathroom, and after a while, she emerged with a slight limp to her step, and turned even redder to find him still there. It was, at the time, the most entertaining thing he’s ever seen her do outside of sex.

The beginning of the end came that night, he knows that now. Maybe if he hadn’t fucked her ass, he would never have made the comment he had, would never have suggested that she take him in her ass while Steve was in her cunt at the same time. He’d been looking to rile Steve up, maybe scare her a little too, but the way she had reacted… It hadn’t been _fear_ that gripped her. It had been _lust_. It had been _want_. She had _wanted it_ , and he’d been _delighted_ , because this was another way to use her to make Steve happy, to satisfy Steve’s lust for her.

And then she called him _James_. She had _never_ called him by anything other than Barnes until that moment, and it was _exhilarating_. He remembers feeling _thrilled_ , because he's well aware that she calls him _Barnes_ as a form of rebellion against him, and he went a little crazy over that too, because the next thing he knows, he’s squeezing her tits and biting into her shoulder and coming _hard_ inside her.

And after, the way she looked at him, blissed out and more open than he’d ever seen it before, but also apprehensive and scared and looking like the young, fairly-innocent girl he tries to forget she is…

… _oh_. He started noticing her as a _girl_. A girl who was lonely and damaged and desperate for human affection, who was starved for touch and connection, who was alone in the knowledge that no one else could understand what she’d gone through.

What she’d gone through… at the hands of HYDRA.

God. God, who else knew better what HYDRA could do to a person… but him?

Wait. Was _that_ why his opinion of her changed? Because he _sympathized_ with her?

But no. Their circumstances were different, weren’t they? Then again, that doesn’t mean the end results couldn’t be the same, could it?

HYDRA had taken Bucky Barnes and experimented on him in 1943, and the experience had changed him. HYDRA had taken Darcy Lewis and experimented on her in 2014, and the experience had changed her. From what Steve has told him about his life before enlisting and Jane Foster’s tales about Lewis before the kidnapping, Bucky Barnes and Darcy Lewis had very similar personalities pre-HYDRA, and from what Steve says about him after and his own observations about her, the change in their personalities and habits and preferences seemed just as similar.

Was that why Steve had been drawn to her in the first place? Because she really did remind him of Bucky Barnes?

…was this why _he_ felt drawn to her now? Because she was probably the only person in the world who could _understand_ him?

Not for the first time, he finds himself thinking of her little oddities, of how she can’t sit still for too long, of how she likes to click her pen when she’s not doing anything urgent, of how she doesn’t do well in pitch-dark rooms and always carries a small flashlight in her jacket pocket, of how she never went more than a block away from the tower and never leaves the building without her panic bracelet and her taser, of how she continues to refuse to talk to anyone about her experience with HYD—

His internal review tapers off when Steve suddenly shifts and gives that small moan that means he’s about to wake up and shuffle into the bathroom, and he holds still as his prediction starts coming true. Steve does indeed wake up, nuzzling into the smooth flesh in front of him before pushing up and rolling lazily off the bed.

“Fuck!” Steve yelps as his foot catches in the ruined section of the mattress, punching through the already-fragile foam as he slips to the floor and bumps into the nightstand.

Darcy— Lewis…  _Darcy_ , he decides, giving in (yet again). Darcy startles, a small snuffle escaping her as she jolts and wakes, and despite the somber thoughts he’d been having, he finds that he can’t help but laugh at the sight, loudly guffawing as Darcy turns over and Steve’s head reappears from below the edge of the bed.

“Son of bitch!” Steve grouses, pulling himself up and untangling himself from the hole he’d made.

“Are you okay?” Darcy asks, trapped between being sleepy and being alert.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Steve assures her, then tosses a pillow at him. “Shut up, jerk. This,” he points to the damage, “is your fault.”

He grins. “Pretty sure it’s yours,” he rebuffs, “considering you’re the one who made it happen.”

Steve sniffs, but there’s a grin building on his face. “Fuck off,” he says as he leans in to plant a kiss on Darcy’s forehead. “Sorry for the ruckus, sweetheart. You go on back to sleep.”

Darcy hums. “Watch your step, Bella,” she smiles, and he—understanding the reference due to the mistake of reading the first Twilight book Stark had given him—joins her in snickering at Steve’s affronted face.

“We will talk about that tomorrow,” he tells her, then stalks to the bathroom.

Darcy inhales deeply and starts to turn back into him, then pauses, going tense. “I… didn’t mean to sleep on you?” she says tentatively, blinking up at him, clearly still half-asleep.

He looks down at her and sees the hesitation and the undisguised longing etched all over her face.  _I’m yours, and she can be yours too_ , he remembers Steve saying hours before. _All we gotta do now is convince her to be_.

He thinks back briefly to everything he’d just been contemplating, thinks of whether he was doing the right thing, letting this unexpected desire for her drive his actions now. It had taken him seeing the imprint of his teeth on her skin to realize what he’s feeling, but...

But he has so many sins against her. And she  _knows it_.

But here she was, looking at him with that expression on her face, like she’s hoping he’ll let her curl back into him again, and he doesn’t understand it. He’s been awful to her, and yet she looks at him like she wants him anyway. And Darcy... she’s no spy or assassin and she’s not that good an actress, and on top of that, she's still half-asleep.

So that look on her face? It’s genuine. Real. And he doesn’t understand _why_.

But that doesn’t mean he’s not grateful for it.

 _God, I’m sorry_ , he thinks as he moves his left arm up so that he can brush his fingers lightly along her jaw.  _I’m sorry for treating you like shit. But I want you too, I do, I really do, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise._

Hoping he’s reading this right, he bends his right arm down until he can wrap his hand over her hip and pull her up just enough so he can press his lips to hers. Darcy responds immediately, bracing her body against his left hand to push up and kiss him back while sliding her own hand up over his left arm. His focus narrows onto her, all the doubts and fears and other things fading from his mind as his overdeveloped sense of awareness tracks the path her hand makes, follows it until he feels her palm on his collar, moving up his neck to cup his jaw, her fingers curling lightly behind his ear and through some of his hair before her mouth opens under his, and he exhales through his nose, relieved at her acceptance and her touch.

He inhales the still-lovely scent of her, breathing her in [and wondering how he could’ve spent so long hating her when all she was is—] and then sweeps his tongue over her top lip, then against her tongue when she flicks it at his. Darcy moans languidly and slips her leg over his, and he turns to her, bending and raising his leg until his thigh was pressed against her warm cunt. They had cleaned her up with a wash cloth and warm water before they went to bed, having learned of her preference for sleeping without a mess between her legs, so she feels smooth and clean, with only a bit of wetness seeping out from between her folds, as she grinds into him, arranging her legs so that she’s got his own trapped against her. He chuckles and hums, then starts moving his hand up and down her back, and she melts into him, her kisses growing slower as her body eases back into sleep.

“Not fair,” she murmurs against his lips.

“Go back to sleep, doll,” he says, cringing internally when he's reminded of why he calls her that and vowing not to do it again, to find another name to use on her.

“You go back to sleep,” she mutters, pressing another kiss to his lips before pulling back. He smiles and nuzzles the tip of his nose over hers, relaxing his grip on her and rearranging her so that she could rest comfortably.

“She out?” Steve asks just as he finishes moving, Darcy sound asleep already.

“Yeah,” he answers quietly, brushing his metal fingers over the slim hand resting on his chest. “She’s out.”

Steve gets carefully back into bed, angling his legs so that he’s not touching the hole he put in the mattress. “Your fault,” he says again while threading their fingers together on Darcy’s hip.

“Nope,” he rebuffs, squeezing his fingers with Steve’s while continuing to gently stroke Darcy’s hand.

“So… you’re still okay with this?” Steve asks tentatively.

His mind turns back to his earlier thoughts. “I shouldn’t want this,” he tells Steve.

“But you do?” He nods. “That’s good,” Steve says. “Bucky, god, you have no idea how good.”

He swallows. “It’s not a good idea,” he tells Steve. “Me wanting her. I’m… fucked up, Steve.”

Steve presses his lips to his bicep. “Haven’t you noticed it yet?” Steve asks quietly.

He frowns. “Noticed what?”

Steve smiles against his skin. “That you haven’t once had a nightmare since she joined us.”

He goes still, his mind racing back through the four months they’d spent fucking her, and then to the three months before that when it was only him and Steve. His mind had been plagued back then, memories of the things he’d done under HYDRA’s command appearing on an almost nightly basis, but after Darcy joined them…

“I… no,” he answers, stunned. “I never noticed.”

But that, he thinks, might be because he’d been so busy watching out for signs of subterfuge and sabotage from Darcy, so busy trying to defend his bond with Steve from the interloper in their relationship—one that he  _himself_  had invited, no less.

And no, he realizes in the next instant, it wasn’t that he hadn’t had nightmares, it was that his nightmares had  _changed_. Instead of death and blood and lifeless bodies making him jerk up and out of bed in the middle of the night, he dreamed of Steve leaving him, of telling him he was too damaged for him, of Steve going back to Darcy, of his hands leaving marks on her body that was as good a claim as any soulmark and Darcy leaving imprints of her red lips over Steve’s heart, and he would wake up with his heart in his throat and tears in his eyes and resentment in his gut, fueling both his dislike for her and his desperation to ensure Steve stayed happy with him.

“She’s good for you,” Steve says, cutting into his thoughts. “She’s been good for you this whole time. Why do you think I keep asking you two to have sex without me getting in the way?”

He swallows again and glances at Steve over Darcy’s head. “You like watching us.”

“Well, yeah, have you seen you two?” Steve says, pushing up so they could look at each other as they spoke. “But more than the aesthetics and the acoustics,” he grins, “I like the way she makes you feel better.”

“Steve,” he whispers, because his soulmate has no idea what he’s talking about. He didn’t feel better after every fuck because of good reasons, he’d felt better after every fuck because he always felt vindicated about Darcy being a whore, because she was there for Steve and yet it was him touching her, keeping her away from the man she was there for and yet making her come on his dick anyway, because he thought he was proving to her that her feelings for Steve wasn’t the love she believed it to be, but lust—pure and simple lust.

He’d been hoping she would figure that out and leave. On her own. Without him ever having to ask her to. It would break Steve’s heart, but that would be on her, it would her fault, and he could have Steve back for himself.

And now… well, now look at him, hugging the same girl he’s been trying to chase off, planning on seducing her so that she wouldn’t leave after all. Hell, he’d even snapped at Steve earlier when he refused to let Darcy come that first time.

God, he was so fucked up, it was almost funny.

Irony at its best, truly.

Steve leans over, careful not to crush Darcy, and gives him a loving, tender kiss. “I love you,” he says, “and I’m happy when you’re happy. And it’s not just me she makes happy, it’s you too. That’s why we work.”

He remembers saying something similar to Steve a few weeks ago, and in that very moment, he feels the urge to come clean to Steve, to confess all his dirty, fucked up thoughts, to tell him he doesn’t deserve this girl sleeping on his chest, that he should keep his distance from her before he fucks her up too.

 _But then he’ll leave me_ , he thinks, and fear wells up inside him at the thought. He doesn’t deserve her, nor Steve, but he doesn’t want to lose them either.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

So instead, he smiles and reaches up with his left hand to kiss his soulmate. “You’re a sap,” he tells Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes, but smiles back. “Shut up and go to sleep, jerk.”

His grins wider at the familiar words. “After you, punk,” he replies accordingly.

(And despite the somber thoughts that plagues him once Steve nods off, he manages to sleep like a fucking baby that night. How weird and twisted is that, huh?)

*

Okay, so she freaks out a little when she wakes up and sees that she’s lying naked while alone in bed.

 _Oh god, they saw the marks_ , she thinks.  _Oh god, they left. Oh god, why? How did this happen? I always ask them to let me keep my shirt on!_

But it wasn’t a shirt she had on, she remembers. It was her dress. She had hurried to meet them, stopping just long enough to grab the small pack she had prepared and send a prayer up to whoever was listening that she didn’t have to prepare herself for some anal sex too, because she doesn’t think she can do that without making herself come, before running to meet them.  _Christ_.

Just as she buries her head under the pillow, vaguely wishing the Earth would part under the bed and just swallow her whole, she hears the door open and their hushed voices drift through the room.

 _Oh shittyfuck_ , she thinks, because _oh god, they're going to **ask** me about it, they're going to ask how bad it is and then they're going to leave again, fuckfuckfuck_.

“She’s not awake yet,” she hears Barnes say.

“Here,” Steve says, “take this and wake her up while I check on the tub. It should’ve cooled down a bit by now.”

Steve’s feet make some noise, so she can track his progress across the room. Barnes, the little (okay, not little) ninja, is sliding his hand up her exposed legs before she can realize he’s nearby.

She jerks, surprised, and hears him laugh. “I stand corrected,” he says loudly, and the pillow is pulled off her head. “She’s already awake.”

“Good,” Steve calls back, and then emerges from the bathroom, shirtless. “Water might still be a bit too hot for her, so,” he smiles, crooking a finger at her as he stops by the end of the bed, “c’mere.”

 _Ngh_ , goes her brain as she rolls up and knee-walks across the mattress to where he’s standing and leans up as he moves down, meeting his kiss eagerly and with great relief. They didn’t seem upset, they had come back and, she realizes as the wonderful smell finally registers, they’d brought bacon and coffee.

 _These_ , she thinks, relaxing,  _are not the actions of angry men_.

“Sleep well?” Steve asks.

She hums happily in confirmation. “Tell me that’s for me,” she says as she slides her hands up his (damp with sweat) chest to tangle her fingers in his (damp with sweat) hair.

“The bacon or the coffee?” he rumbles back, his hands sweeping up her back firmly and  _oh god but she’s missed that_ , missed feeling skin on her bare back, on her bare flesh.

She smirks and reaches down to grope the half-hard erection she can feel through his pants. “I meant this,” she chuckles.

Steve hums. “Oh no,” he tells her, promptly pulling away and taking several steps back. “Nope, not for you.”

“Steve,” she pouts, then jolts up a little when Barnes’s hands suddenly come around her to carefully cup her breasts.

“You kept this from us,” he says, his lips pressing down on the bite he’d left, and she tilts her head back on his shoulder as goose bumps spread across her skin, her nipples hardening as he rolls them between his thumbs and index fingers. “Didn’t mention it, didn’t even plan to, did you?” His teeth nip at the mark when she only moans and reaches up to rake her fingers through his hair to keep him there and doesn’t answer. “Did you?” he asks again.

“No,” she replies, looking up at Steve, who sits down in front of her and leans in to kiss her belly, his chin brushing against the tops of her mons teasingly. “I didn’t plan on telling you,” she adds, moving her left hand out of Barnes’s hair to touch Steve’s.

“Why not?” Steve asks, sliding his hands up the outside of her thighs to her hips, which was  _not_  where she wants those hands to be sliding up to right now. She jerks as Steve drags his tongue down to where she wants him most and  _holy fast turn on_ , jeezus! “Why not, Darcy?” he asks again, pulling away. “Tell me.”

With a frustrated grunt and a fervent hope that today isn’t going to be a repeat of yesterday, because as much fun as that had been, she doesn’t think she can take that kind of treatment on a daily basis, she says, “I didn’t want either of you getting upset,” she answers. “I know you two don’t like to leave marks on my breasts and I thought…”

“That we’d stop?” Barnes finishes for her, nuzzling the tip of his nose over the skin he leaves wet with his spit. “That we’d turn you away?”

“Never,” Steve tells her, rising to kiss her again. “You don’t. have to worry. about that,” he says between kisses. “Okay?”

“M’kay,” she nods, removing her hand from his hair to drag his wrist between her thighs. “Please touch me now?”

He does, and she moans in relief. “Of course, sweetheart,” Steve acquiesces, kissing her lips one last time before moving down, trailing a path to her ( _oh god yes please)_  breasts. “You were so good yesterday,” he says. “So beautiful, so strong.”

She flushes at the praise. “Shut up,” she tells him.

“You  _were_  impressive,” Barnes agrees, releasing her left breast to nudge her head up and turn her face to him, and she hums as he kisses her, still confused as to why, but hell if she’s going to complain because Barnes? Can  _kiss_. Electricity shoots down her body at the slide of his lips over hers and it. is.  _glorious_. Combined with the way he’s gone back to teasing her breasts and nipples with both hands? It’s a miracle she hasn’t become a melted puddle of human. “I was. particularly impressed— _mm_ —when he said. your name. and you just. stopped yourself. from coming,” he says between kisses. “Felt it happen. So hot.”

She blushes darker at the memory, and then bucks her hips and groans as Steve  _finally_  slides his fingers up between her thighs to rub at her.

“But that doesn’t get you off the hook, Darcy,” Steve tells her sternly, and Barnes pulls his lips off hers so she could look at the man in front of her. “You kept this from us,” he says, reaching up to brush his fingers over the faded yellows stain on her flesh. “And don’t get me wrong, I understand why you thought you needed to hide it, but I’m still upset that you didn’t say anything. We need to know if we hurt you, and we need to be able to trust you to tell us _when_  we hurt you. Okay?”

Darcy bites her bottom lip and nods, chagrined [and turned on, because  _neither of them has stopped fondling her_ , jeezus]. “I won’t do it again,” she tells him. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” Steve nods back, then leans up to kiss her again while slipping his fingers inside her, making her moan against his lips. “But again,” he says, nuzzling her cheek, “that doesn’t get you off the hook.”

She tenses up. “Oh, god,” she murmurs as he finds that wonderful spot in side her that triples the speeding rush of her orgasm. “Please, please, please, let me come, Steve, I can’t do yesterday again—”

Steve hushes her comfortingly. “No, no, no,” he says. “No, you just come, sweetheart, it’s okay. You can come anytime you want today.”

“ _Ngh_ , thank  _god_ ,” she sighs, leaning her head back on Barnes’s shoulder.

“You close, Darcy doll?” Barnes rumbles, squeezing her breasts gently.

“Yes,” she hisses, tilting her hips forward as Steve moves his free hand down to rub her swelling bud as the fingers of his other hand drive in and out of her furiously. “Yesyesyesyesyes, Steve, oh  _god!”_  she cries out as she gushes over him, the orgasm making her light-headed. “Oh my god,” she pants, leaning back against James as she savors the pleasure thrumming through her.

Steve pulls his fingers out and off her and leans up to kiss her. “Good,” he says. “Now, come on,” he tells her. “It’s bath time for you.”

She hums as Ja—  _Barnes_  gives her breasts one last tender grope before letting Steve take her into his arms. And then she remembers— “But food!”

“Food’s coming with,” he assures her, but she wiggles out of his grip.

“Wait,” she says, biting her lip, because if they were taking her straight to the shower, then— “I gotta bathroom first.”

Steve bites down on a laugh. “Okay,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Go bathroom.”

Flushing a deep red, Darcy locks the door and does her business quickly, washing off and wiping off before flushing the toilet and washing her hands. And washing her face too, because wow, how do they look at her in the mornings?

“Done,” she declares, only to be tugged out of the bathroom.

“Bucky needs to go too,” Steve says as Barnes slips past her and shuts the door behind him. “Now I have you all to myself for the next thirty seconds,” he hums, pulling her up for a kiss.

“Not complaining,” she replies, and proceeds to spend the next thirty seconds making out with him.

“Steve, do you—?”

“Yup,” Steve says, spinning her into Barnes’s arms before ducking into the bathroom, and Darcy can’t help it—she starts laughing.

“Oh god,” she snickers as Barnes wraps an arm around her waist. “Is this how the mornings are going to go now?”

“Why not?” Barnes tells her, tilting her chin up and pressing his lips against hers. She hums, and indeed,  _why the fuck not?_  she thinks as he backs her into the wall and lifts her up, his hands on her ass as she wraps her legs high around his waist and scratches her fingernails lightly over his scalp, drawing a pleased sound from him. “You know,” he tells her, “you told me to do something last night.”

“Mm, what?” she asks, rolling her body against his as his right hand smoothed a path up her back.

“You were half-asleep,” he says, moving his lips off hers to kiss up to that spot under her jaw, “and nodding off, and you told me,” he groans, and she shivers as the sound travels through her, spreading goose bumps over her flesh once more, “you told me to come inside your cunt.”

“You—ah!—you always come inside my cunt,” she reminds him, grinding against the erection she can feel poking through his jogging pants.

He drags his teeth over her flesh, making her nipples and her already wet heat tingle happily, then says, “Mm, but not while you’re asleep.”

She gasps and thoughtlessly clenches down on herself, the idea of him fucking her while she’s sleeping and leaving his come inside her getting her a little hotter than she expected. “Oh god,” she whimpers as she clutches at him, feeling another orgasm burning just under her skin. “Oh god, did you?”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, sounding smug, and she shudders, feeling a rush of wetness seep out of her. “Fucked you ‘til I came, ‘til you came, and then you passed out while I was shooting every drop I had deep inside your hot,” he licks up the shell of her ear, “wet cunt.”

“Fuck,” she says, her voice sounding strangled even to her ears. “Oh my god, James, Jesus—” She yanks his lips back to hers, and reaches down with her other hand, pushing his pants down. “Fuck me,” she tells him, frantically. “Fuck me, come inside me again, I want to feel you come inside me again—”

He growls and quickly helps her out, toeing his shoes off and letting his pants pool around his ankles, and within moments, he was sliding in and pounding into her.

“I wasn’t even gone for a minute!” Steve says suddenly from beside them.

She hears James chuckle before he pulls away from her lips and returns to that spot below on her jaw. “Oh right,” he says, not once stopping the feverish pace he had set, “Steve sucked my spunk out of your cunt after.”

“Fuck,” she mewls, reaching for Steve and yanking him to her, and he kisses her back for several moments before pulling away and detaching her grip from his shirt. “Steve, Steve, please…”

“Not me, sweetheart,” he says, smiling, “Bucky’s the one in charge of you right now. He’s the one you ask permission from.”

“J— Barnes,” she groans, digging her fingers into his covered back, then shifting so that she could pull his shirt up and get her hands on his bare flesh. “Please, can I come, please?”

“Yeah,” he tells her. “Yeah, you just come when you feel like it, sweetheart, let me feel you come on me, squeeze my dick for me, come for me, darlin’—”

Her brain seems to short out at the new endearment, and she yells into his shoulder as she breaks apart. “ _Fuck!_  Fuck,  _James_ , yesyesyes _yesyes!_  Oh god, come inside me, fuck me, fuck my cunt and fill it up,  _c’mrrrn_ ,” she snarls manically, dragging her nails down over his skin.

“ _Christ!”_  he exclaims, bucking roughly into her. “ _Fuck!_  Darcy doll,  _fuck!”_

She sucks in a breath as she feels him pour his heat into her, and then shuts her eyes and moans and grinds against him as she savors the sensation. “So good,” she tells him quietly as he calms down, his hips slowing until he stops, his length buried deep inside her. “So good, baby, you feel so good.” He moans, low and deep and sounding utterly satisfied, and she feels a thrill shoot down her spine at the sound, it being something she’s never drawn out of him before.

Another set of hands touch her legs and slide up to her hips before Jame—  _Barnes_  suddenly presses closer and deeper into her. They both groan at the increase in weight, and she realizes that it’s Steve crowding against Ja—  _Barnes_ , damn it!  _Barnes’s_  back.

“Bath time,” Steve says, his voice muffled, and Barnes hums and pushes back a little, sliding out of her slightly before he presses in again, making her moan as he moves his hands off her so Steve can get his shirt off. Darcy tries to help, but gets distracted once she realizes that with her hands on his shirt, she’s being held up against the wall only by the press of his hips against her and her legs around his waist.

Has she mentioned how ridiculously hot sex with Barnes can sometimes (always) be?

“Hang on,” he tells her before his hands slide down her ass to lift her off the wall and take her into the bathroom. (See? SEE? This is what she  _means!)_  He might’ve lost some points when he almost stumbles over his pants in the process before he kicks them off, but each movement has his softening member sliding in and out of her, so that actually just turns her on again. That, _and_ the fact that he never pulls out of her completely, not even as he carefully eases them both into the tub of very warm water.

 _Unf_.

“Water too hot?” he asks as he slides his hands up her back, firm and gentle at the same time.

She hums and shakes her head, closing her eyes as the heat reaches her bone deep. “S’good,” she says with a slight slur, feeling incredibly sated. “S’really good. Perfect.”

“ _Fuck! Son of a bitch!”_  Steve suddenly yells from outside as something crashes and breaks.

She and Barnes both sit up and glance at the door. “Steve, what’s going on?” Barnes asks, but he doesn’t look worried.

“…breakfast in the tub is a no go,” Steve says, appearing briefly in the doorway to retrieve some towels from under the sink, his face flushed red. “Stay there, I’ll take care of it.”

“Aw, bacon,” she says sadly. “ _Aw, coffee!”_  she realizes soon after.

Barnes chuckles and tugs her into a kiss, and she eagerly, happily kisses back, letting the pleasure that his mouth elicits overtake all the little reasons that crop up in her head telling her why this was a Bad Idea.

“Sorry about that,” Steve says some time later, and she hears and feels him approach the edge of the tub.

“Mm, s’okay,” she tells him, pulling back to watch him get into the tub behind her, her black bag in his hands. “Another time.”

“What she said,” Barnes nods, licking a path back to that place under her jaw.

“Tip your head back,” Steve says. “Get your hair wet so I can wash it.”

She smiles. “You wanna wash my hair?” she slurs as she does as he asks, bending until she feels the water lap around the top of her forehead. Steve’s left hand shoots out to support her upper back while Barnes quickly slips his hands up to catch the bend of her spine.

“Damn,” she hears Barnes say right before his mouth closes around her left nipple, making her moan and grind into him.

“Always wanted to,” Steve answers her. “Okay, now up.”

She bears down on Barnes as she rises, making him swear into her breast as she feels him start to harden again. She smiles, only opening her eyes when she smells her conditioner permeate the air. That the first thing she sees is the red vibrator sitting on the tub’s edge behind Barnes is rather telling.

“It’s not water proof,” she tells them. “Can’t use it in here.”

“I know,” Steve replies as his hands slide up the back of her hair, and she remembers with a flush that he’s been introduced to the big red dude before. “We were hoping we could watch you use it tonight.”

She moans at the thought, and at the flick of Barnes’s tongue on her nipple and the feel of his finger moving down her belly to rub at her swollen nub and at Steve’s fingers massaging her conditioner through her hair. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Okay then,” she agrees.

“It’s date,” Steve tells her, and she groans and contracts around Barnes’s now-fully hard erection as  _want_  rushes through her veins.

( _It’s a date_ , her mind repeats over and over as Barnes starts to move inside her again while Steve rubs conditioner through her hair.  _It’s a date, it’s a date, it’s a date, it’s a date, it’s a date_ —)

*

Steve was having one of those days, when you take one step forward and somehow trip on air and land on your face. He woke up just like that, actually, woke up to find his lovers sweetly and peacefully entwined together, then ruins that sweet peace when he forgets about the damage on the mattress and trips on it. Then, he manages to avert a potentially relationship-threatening landmine with Bucky and gets him on-board with a surprise breakfast in bed, but ruins that when he trips over Darcy’s forgotten bag and drops the tray. And _then_ , just as he finally gets to complete one of his more modest fantasies of washing Darcy’s hair and having bath sex with her and Bucky:

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS speaks up as he’s about to come inside her. “Forgive my interruption, but a situation has arisen and requires your immediate attention.”

He groans unhappily and drops his forehead onto Bucky’s shoulder, his lips pressing into Darcy’s skin as he stops moving. “How immediate?” she asks breathily, grinding into Steve anyway. “Can it wait a few minutes please?”

“…certainly, Miss Lewis,” he says.

“Thank God,” Steve exhales fervently.

Darcy laughs. “Come on, Captain Rogers,” she tells him. “There’s a situation you need to take a look at and it’s— Oh fuck!” she exclaims as he starts thrusting into her again.

With Bucky’s help, Steve gets her to come within the next minute, and it only takes him another few seconds after that to finish. “Thank you,” he murmurs as he presses sloppy, come-drunk kisses over her shoulder and back.

She chuckles contentedly. “Mm, hardly be fair,” she slurs. “Barnes came twice this morning and I had three, four now.”

“Once is enough,” he tells her. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” she says, still uncomfortable with being praised for things that weren’t about her skills in the bedroom.

“C’mon,” Bucky tells them both, kissing Darcy then Steve. “We need to wash all this soap off and get dressed.”

“Mm,” she hums as Steve pulls out of her. “Right. Situation. JARVIS, what is it?”

“I’m afraid your presence is required in Master Stark’s workshop.”

Darcy growls, sounding adorable. “Stark. He’s the situation?”

“Of sorts, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS says as Steve stands and reaches for the shower knob. “I believe he wishes to obtain the captain’s perspective on his new uniform.”

“Oh, I will _give_ him perspective,” she grumbles, then squeaks in surprise as the shower starts and sprays directly over her back.

Steve tries not to smile and fails.

After he leaves Tony’s lab (“That’s it?” “Ha! That’s what she said, and no, of course not, come on, Cap, who do you think I am—Hammer?” “Who?” “Exactly.”), Steve spends the rest of the morning running errands with Bucky, such as bringing in the new one once it comes and taking the old mattress to a repair shop to get it patched up for donation (“Your fault.” “No,  _your_  fault.”), then wandering around the commercial levels of the tower until they find the shop Darcy buys her body wash and conditioner from, where a friendly and helpful saleswoman hands them the brands they rattle off (“Is there _any_ thing else I can do for you gentlemen?” “Yeah, wrap this up, would you?”).

At lunchtime, they make the mistake of letting Natasha rope them into joining her for a meal in the food court on the seventeenth floor.

“So how’s the threesome going?”

Steve inhales his drink and starts coughing. Bucky thoughtfully glares at her for him. “Do that again and I’ll stop letting you win when we spar.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You don’t let me win.” Bucky smirks, and it seems to rile her up. “You _don’t_.”

“Please,” Steve wheezes, “don’t mention that in public.”

She sighs and points her pizza at him. “You need to get your act together,” she says, then turns to Bucky. “And you need to make your intentions clear.”

“I’m sorry, how is our relationship any of your business?” Bucky snaps.

“I have kept my silence for almost a year,” she tells him calmly, and Steve almost starts coughing again. “First with Steve, and now with you as well. Enough is enough. That girl deserves better and you both know it.”

“Wait, you knew?” Steve asks, shocked. “How?”

Natasha raises her eyebrow again. “Steve,” she says slowly, leaning in, “you had sex with her on the kitchen counter where anyone could walk in and see you.” He flushes at the reminder, and at the realization that she’s known since the very beginning. “So of course I know.”

“You saw us?”

She almost sneers. “I’m the one who cleaned the counter after you left for her room. We _eat_ there, you know.”

“Wait a minute,” Bucky says, eyebrows rising. “You never mentioned that before. Is that why you always sit in the same place? Is that where you…?”

He feels his blush darken. “It was, at first,” he admits. “And after you came, everyone got so used to me sitting there, I thought it would be weird if I suddenly changed seats.”

Bucky presses his lips together, but he doesn’t look like he’s contemplating bodily harm.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “At least clean the damned counter when you’re done,” she tells him, and Steve clues in to what his soulmate’s thinking.

 _Jesus, Mary and Joseph_ , he thinks as Bucky swipes an ‘X’ over his heart and holds his hand up in a three-fingered salute, and tries and fails to banish from his mind the image of them on the counter, Darcy's bare legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, her hair and her exposed breasts bouncing with every thrust. Or maybe she’d be bent over the countertop, her shirt raised and bra tugged down while her pants were around her knees, Bucky himself barely unclothed save for his pants, open just enough to let him ou—

“I’m thinking you should feed her,” Natasha says abruptly, cutting into the new fantasy unfurling in his head. “ _Food_ ,” she snaps at Bucky when he opens his mouth with a leer. “Real food.”

“That’s a good idea,” Steve nods before Bucky could get another jab in at Natasha, his brain latching onto the idea and tossing some romance into the mix. “Dessert after dinner. Would that do for a start?”

The spy backs down from the protest that had formed on her face and nods succinctly. “For a start.”

Darcy squeals excitedly when she sees the strawberries that night. “Are you serious!” she says, completely ignoring the whipped cream as she snaps one up immediately, shutting her eyes and moaning and rocking her body like she’s having an orgasm. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck, I missed this, oh my god.”

“Interesting,” Bucky hums under his breath, watching Darcy as she falls on top of the new bed, the momentum making her slippers fly off her feet, but she ignores that, focusing on sucking the last bite of strawberry like… _well_ , he smiles wryly, _like she’s sucking something else_.

“JARVIS told us you liked strawberries,” Steve says as he joins her on the bed, “but that you couldn’t have it often since Tony hoards them for Pepper.” He puckers his lips at her when she reaches for another piece, and she snorts and pushes him away while stealing the bowl of strawberries. He pouts at her.

“I know, it’s like, her favorite,” Darcy grunts before halving another strawberry. “She eats it like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.” She pauses, the last bit halfway to her mouth. “Where did you get these?”

Bucky smiles as he drops down beside her. “D’you really wanna know?” he asks, right before he slides his hand up her body and takes her by the wrist so he can guide what’s left of the fruit into his mouth, sucking at her juice-stained fingers.

Darcy swallows audibly. “Okay, fuck, I see,” she says, and promptly rises so she can straddle him while pressing her lips to his, setting the bowl on the mattress so she can slide her fingers through his hair.

Steve rolls his eyes, because _these two_. They can’t even go a minute before turning things to sex, which, of course, ruins the purpose of the dessert. Their talking was not the kind of talking he’d been expecting over a bowl of strawberries. Yet another thing that goes wrong for him today.

…well, okay, maybe not _wrong_ —because hearing them _talk_ will never get old—but off course. He’d wanted to romance her, damn it! Is that really too much to ask?

“Mm,” he hears her hum as Bucky breaks the kiss while nabbing a strawberry from the bowl, and despite the mild irritation he feels, Steve can’t stop the amused grin that spreads when the strawberry goes between Bucky’s lips, his metal fingers managing to pull the green leaves off before he angles his head up and offers it to Darcy, who giggles and stretches her mouth over the fruit, reddish juice spilling down Bucky’s chin and cheeks and jaw when she bites into it, and wow, okay, maybe he can forgive them for messing up his plans, because that? Is pretty damn hot.

Sighing at the loss of a perfectly nice opportunity to sweep Darcy off her feet before sex, Steve picks up the whipped cream and joins the fun, pulling up Darcy’s shirt to spray a bit of the sweet treat on her back. She shrieks in surprise, jolting up and against Bucky, who groans at the motion and slides his right hand down to cup her left cheek while Steve bends down to lick the sugary substance off her skin.

“Oh fuck,” Darcy laughs. “You’re gonna have to change the sheets again after this.”

Bucky laughs a little muffledly, and after an audible gulp, he says, “Sweetheart, we _always_ change the sheets _after this_.”

Darcy makes a sound of agreement. “Just sayin’,” she says, reaching for another strawberry, and Steve backs up a bit so he can watch them when he sees her put it in her mouth and bend down so Bucky can take it. Bucky obliges her, rivulets of red running down his skin once more, and Darcy jerks and grunts, pulling back a little as she eats the leftover fruit and swipes her tongue over her bottom lip.

“Sorry,” Bucky tells her after he swallows what he’d bitten, bringing his hand up to cup her jaw and chin as he eyes her lip, and Steve surmises that he must’ve bitten her too.

“Kiss,” she demands, pouting her injured lip, and Bucky obeys, licking and sucking at her a little obscenely. Then again, Steve amends, everything they did in bed was always more than a little obscene, so.

“Okay?” Bucky asks after a moment. Darcy hums in confirmation, and he hums back. “Good. Now get yourself over to Steve, he’s getting a little left out.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well, you were hogging all the Darcy, so.”

She laughs, bright and amused, and makes grabby hands at him. “C’mere, hot stuff,” she says, sliding off Bucky and crawling over to him, careful not to upset the bowl. “Hi,” she greets right before kissing him, and Steve murmurs a greeting back before responding to her kiss and happily letting her undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Oh, that’s right,” Bucky speaks up over the sound of him undressing. “You owe Steve a new shirt.”

Darcy does that guilty little squeak of hers and groans another laugh. “I’m so sorry,” she tells him, pulling back to speak, and Steve moves his lips down to her chin, nipping at her skin before trailing lower and lower. “I seriously didn’t mean to ruin your _shirt!”_ she squeals as he pays her back and rips her shirt open, the buttons popping loudly and scattering over the sheets. “Okay, fuck, that’s hot,” she gasps.

“Damn it, punk, we just cleaned up here!” Bucky reminds him as he carefully but hurriedly pulls the shirt down her arms, tugging her wrists together as he bends to kiss and lick along the edge of her bra.

“ _Ngh_ ,” Darcy sounds and tries to pull her arms from her clothes, but he holds on firmly, keeping her in place as he sucks at a nipple. “Steve,” she groans, struggling. “Steve, let go.”

“I want to keep you like this,” he tells her, straightening so he can look her in the eye and check how she reacts. “Hands tied behind your back. Is that okay?”

She whines and rolls her hips against his, head tilting back briefly. “Fuck, yes, okay,” she nods, curls bouncing, and he grins at Bucky, who rolls his eyes and reaches forward to tie the shirt securely around her wrists.

“Good?” Bucky asks her, pressing his lips to the mark on her shoulder as his hands slide up her arms.

Darcy sighs and leans back into him. “Yes,” she hisses, back arching as Steve tugs her bra down just enough to uncover her lovely breasts. “Steve, don’t tease.”

“But you like when I tease,” he reminds her, letting his fingers ghost over her hard peaks. “Look at what teasing you did yesterday.”

She gasps shakily, her eyes widening as she looks at him. “Please don’t,” she says. “Please? I want to come soon, please, Steve?”

“Why’re you askin’ me?” he grins. “It’s not my time to tell you what to do.”

Her body relaxes, and he practically sees the shift that passes through her at the knowledge that he wouldn’t be in charge tonight. “You mean it’s our turn to drive you crazy?” she asks, her voice turning low and slightly husky, and he shivers, recognizing it at once.

 _Crap_ , he thinks, knowing she was going to pay him back for yesterday and helplessly looking forward to it.

Bucky chuckles, his blue eyes looking at Steve with eager excitement. “Look at that, you got Steve all excited for you, Lewis,” he says, right before his face wrinkles and he shakes his head slightly.

With him at her back, Darcy misses the look that comes over Bucky’s face. “Why did you want my hands behind my back, Steve?” she asks while leaning in, pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips. “Hm? What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing,” Steve lies, only managing to kiss her back briefly since she pulls away when he does. “It just crossed my mind,” he adds, meeting Bucky’s gaze and blinking.

Bucky smirks back and nods. “I have something in mind,” he offers, backing away and taking Darcy with him, almost hitting the bowl of strawberries as he retreated. “Steve, get your clothes off,” he says as he guides Darcy off the bed. “Damn, look at you,” he adds, and Steve looks over at them as he undoes his belt and proceeds to do as Bucky told him to.

Darcy flushes, red tingeing her cheeks and neck and chest. “Shut up.”

“No,” Bucky refuses as he continues to look her over, and Steve can see why he’s entranced—with her hands restrained and the bra that he’d only pulled down, her full breasts practically jutted out, their presence un-ignorable. “I bet you’ll look even better without these on,” Bucky notes as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her tights. “May I?”

“Panties too,” she tells him.

“Do they match your bra?” he asks.

Darcy blinks. “Um, yes?”

“Then no,” Bucky declines, rolling her pants down at the same time and leaning in to press a quick kiss to her covered mound, making her gasp and whine as he finishes his task.

“ _Barnes_ ,” Darcy snaps even as she steps out of the black material.

“Calm down, doll,” he tells her, and then frowns.

“What?” she asks, and even Steve is starting to get curious at the uncharacteristic pauses and frowns.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head as he starts to rise, trailing his lips over her thigh and hip and waist until he can latch his mouth on her left breast, tongue peeking out to swipe over the nearly-gone bruise. “Get back on the bed, sweetheart.”

Darcy bites her lip, pausing and giving him an unsure look. Bucky looks back at her and seems to stop breathing. Steve… Steve thinks he knows what’s going on and holds his breath too, wondering if this was it.

But then Darcy swallows and takes a step towards the bed, breaking the moment. But then Bucky reaches out and tugs her back to him, kissing her urgently, and Darcy moans and kisses back, pushing up on her toes to get closer. Steve… Steve almost growls, thinking _Ugh, so close_ while looking to the ceiling in frustration and wondering why he was in love with two stubborn and obtuse people.

“Come on,” Darcy gasps. “Steve’s feeling left out.”

No, Steve is not feeling left out. Steve is feeling exasperated with the two of them.

…and okay, maybe a little left out.

But only a little bit.

“Right,” Bucky murmurs, but instead of letting her go, he lifts her up, making her yelp in surprise, then shimmies them both onto the bed. “Right, Steve,” he says, parting from her lips long enough to look up at him and smirk, “get the vibrator. It’s on the sink.”

Steve grins back. “Oh, right,” he nods.

“Did you clean my toy for me?” he hears Darcy ask as he hurries in and out of the bathroom, checking to see that the toy was dry.

“Did that just turn you on?” Bucky asks back, chuckling.

“Shut up,” she replies, flushing guiltily. “I’ll need my hands for this.”

Steve shakes his head as he joins them on the bed. “No, you won’t,” he tells her, because that would ruin the whole plot—er, plan. “Bucky will hold it for you.”

Her flush darkens. “Oh,” she says, looking at Bucky, who looks back at her steadily.

“Is that okay?” he asks, though his tone suggests he already know her answer, just like Steve does. Darcy bites her lip and nods jerkily, so he slips his right hand between Darcy’s thighs, making her moan lightly and tilt her hips towards him while spreading her knees. “How wet do you want to be for this, sweetheart?”

Darcy hums, rolling her still-covered crotch against his hand. “This is good,” she tells him, and he gives her a look.

“Really?” he asks, sounding so doubtful that Steve has to know why.

“Darcy,” he says with a frown as he feels the smooth fabric, “your panties are barely soaked.”

“Only from the outside,” she sighs, biting her lips briefly, and they both slide their fingers past the satin at the unspoken invitation to find her incredibly slick.

“Ah,” Bucky sounds, nodding, and Steve passes the vibrator over when he gestures for it. “Whenever you’re ready,” he tells her, and Steve pulls back a little, smiling to himself as he takes them in.

“Panties off,” Darcy says as she lowers herself on the toy.

“No,” Bucky answers again as he pushes the fabric aside and presses the tip of the vibrator against her.

Steve watches as Darcy moans and slides herself over it and Bucky swallows heavily and looks her with hungry eyes. “Turn it on,” she murmurs, looking up at Bucky briefly, and he flicks his thumb over the small dial obediently, Darcy muffling a cry as the toy comes alive.

“Don’t hold back, sweetheart,” Bucky says immediately at the sound. “You talk to us, c’mon, let us hear you.”

“Ohhhh,” she moans, still not taking the toy into her, just circling her hips so that the tip could press against her sensitive flesh. “Oh god, it feels good, I can’t—” She bites her lip and rises to angle herself over it, moaning again as she sinks it in, then tilts her hips in and her backside out so that she could feel the vibrations against her bud. Bucky jerks forward, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, and wraps his lips around her nipple, startling her into taking more of the toy inside her. “Oh fuck,” she breathes, pressing her lips and chin over his head, and then— “Oh _fuck!”_ she cries again as the vibrating sound goes faster. “Oh god, oh _god!”_

Steve bites his lip as Bucky visibly decides _oh, to hell with it_ and start to pleasure her with the toy, and he reaches backwards for the nightstand to find their lube, reminding himself that they could always watch Darcy play with herself another time.

(Still, if you count the conversation with Natasha, the failed romantic night he had planned and him impulsively tying her hands behind her back to set her and Bucky up tonight, that’s five things that didn’t go as he’d planned today, and he could only hope that tomorrow wouldn’t turn out the same way.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Bucky, like I said, that's not everything, it's just a summary/overview, both so that you guys have some idea of why he's feeling what he's feeling, and to set the stage for future chapters where Angst! will happen.
> 
> Also, I'm more focused on developing and expressing his shifting perceptions about Darcy and the tumultuous relationship between them, rather than unveiling the total sum of his many, many issues. So just to clarify and forewarn, since that's not the point of this story, I very much doubt I'll delve too much into the psyche of Bucky Barnes, unless it affects the relationship between him, Steve and Darcy.
> 
> The date thing in Darcy's POV is important. And yes, girls, you CAN pee after squirting, and no, your body won't embarrass you by exchanging the two at the most critical time. Trust me. (TRUST ME. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYING? TRUST MEEEEEEE. *embarrassed laugh*)
> 
> And yes, I always imagined that Steve and Darcy met and fucked in the kitchen, which is HILARIOUS, because that's where the others keep meeting up to discuss Darcy's secret paramour. *slaps a hand over eyes and laughs in embarrassment*
> 
> And don't worry, the strawberries and whipped cream won't go to waste *winks* I just had to cut Steve's POV in half because it was getting a little long =P
> 
> *Addition: PEPPER WAS EXTREMISED! YOUR ARGUMENTS OVER HER STRAWBERRY ALLERGY HAVE BEEN INVALIDATED BY IM3!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets the strawberries n' cream treatment (heh), Bucky gets to do last night all over again, and Darcy makes a pretty important decision that will change her daily routine and give her some peace of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, FOOD + SEX = MORE PORN, OKAY?
> 
> WARNINGS: Some description of the start of a panic attack in Darcy's POV, but it doesn't go all the way.

“I feel torn,” Bucky says as they stare down at the vibrator peeking from between pale thighs. “On one hand, I feel the need to destroy this vibrator. On the other, I feel the desire to keep it handy.”

Panting heavily, Darcy replies with a vague “No,” from where she’s lying awkwardly on her side, off her still-bound wrists. Steve moves his hands off himself and reaches out with slick fingers to undo the bonds, and she groans as she goes free, rolling her shoulders to relieve whatever ache had built up while Bucky made her come (twice).

“Damn it,” Steve frowns as he sees the redness on her wrists, and makes a mental note not to use a cotton shirt to bind her again. “Don’t move,” he tells her, leaning in to kiss her before rolling off the bed and heading into the bathroom to wash his hands and retrieve the first aid kit they’d made just for her.

By the time he comes out, Bucky was helping her roll onto her back and pulling her bra off of her. The vibrator, Steve sees, impressively stays in place the whole time.

“Tired?” he asks her, lifting her arm so that he can press a kiss on her wrist, just below the reddened skin.

“Maybe a little,” she says, reaching out with her free hand to wiggle her fingers at the strawberry bowl, which had toppled over when Darcy had flailed as she came with a rush of wetness that had soaked the sheets. “Food?”

Bucky returns the scattered fruits into the bowl and puts it beside her, then takes the cream Steve hands him so they could tend to her wrists.

“Did you need a hand with that?” Darcy grins, eyeing their still prominent erections as she bit into a strawberry.

“In a bit,” he grins back, Bucky smiling as well.

As soon as they were done with her arms, Darcy reaches down to pull the toy out, and Steve almost rolls his eyes when she meets Bucky’s ever-watchful gaze as she does. Seriously, these two, ugh.

The moment the vibrator was out of her, Bucky takes it and turns it back on, pressing it to her folds and making her cry out, startled. “Stopstopstopstop,” she pants, and he pulls the toy away. “Hohmygod, you dick,” she exhales, trembling.

Bucky laughs as he turns it off. “Get naked, sweetheart,” he says, rolling off the bed, snagging the kit as he goes and takes both it and the vibrator back into the bathroom.

“Bossy,” Darcy calls after him, grinning as she winks up at Steve and wiggles her hips, her breasts rolling with the motion, and he takes the hint and helps her out by slipping his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulling them off her. The sound of running water reaches his ears, and he’s a little surprised when Darcy seems to hear the soft sound too, blinking and looking to the bathroom before turning back to him and asking, “Is he really cleaning my vibrator right now?”

“Shouldn’t he?” he asks, putting the oddity out of his mind.

“Well, yeah, but…” She shrugs. “Just surprised is all. Never mind. Kiss me, Steven,” she says, puckering her lips, and Steve shakes his head with an amused smile before complying.

They’re making out heavily on the bed by the time Bucky comes back, and Steve vaguely notes that he returns empty-handed.

“Where’s my dude?” Darcy asks while sucking at Steve’s top lip. “Didn’t you two say something about you watching me use it?”

“Later,” Bucky tells her, and she moans and rears back, letting Steve see that his flesh and metal fingers were drawing circles over and around her nipples. “We have strawberries to eat.”

“Right,” she agrees, moving to drag the bowl closer and brushing one over Steve’s lips. “May I?” she asks. Steve opens his mouth for her, accepting the fruit and cradling it carefully between lips and teeth. “Fuck,” she says, her eyes darkening, “lookin’ good, Rogers.”

Steve laughs quietly at the compliment as she leans in to take a careful bite, and he uses his tongue to push the strawberry out a bit, letting her take half, then pulling what was left back into his mouth and chewing the rich, sweet-tart flesh.

“Didja know he used to be allergic to strawberries?” Bucky shares as he lifts another piece up for Steve to take in his mouth.

“I was allergic to everything before the serum,” Steve specifies (well, not really) before taking the offered fruit. Darcy gives a little squeak as Bucky leans in to eat half of the strawberry and presses her closer to Steve, her breasts trying and failing to flatten themselves against his chest. Steve hums happily at the combination of Bucky’s mouth and Darcy’s soft flesh and reaches up to touch them both, smoothing his left hand up Bucky’s back while his right hand moves up Darcy’s left arm.

He feels Bucky smile right before Darcy slides higher on his lap, her quiet gasp loud in his ear. “Like this, right?” Bucky murmurs after he swallows his strawberry, and then he grinds carefully against Darcy, which has her moving against Steve too. “You want us just like this.”

“Yes,” Darcy replies, sounding breathless. “I want you just like this.”

Steve groans at the reminder and moves against her, feeling himself slide easily over her skin thanks to the lube he’d put on, and it only slightly eases the frustration building inside him.

“When you’re ready, sweetheart,” Bucky tells her, then eases off and moves away, and then Darcy gives another surprised yelp as the hiss of the whipped cream fills the air.

“Damn it, Barnes, warn a girl!” she says as Steve moves his head up just in time to see Bucky lick a thick dollop of white off her skin.

Bucky only laughs. “Turn over,” he tells her a few moments later, and Steve sighs and lets her do so, only to yelp when Bucky swirls a generous amount of whipped cream over his nipple.

“Hey!” he says reflexively, but does nothing to stop Bucky from spraying his other nipple.

“Ooh, I like this,” Darcy grins, reaching for a strawberry and halving it with the nails of her thumbs before topping the cream off with them. “Mm-mmh. Lookin’  _good_ , Rogers.”

He snorts and smacks a hand on his forehead, careful not to destroy their work, and asks, “Why me?”

“Oh, shush, you know you love this,” Darcy says, gathering her hair back before leaning down to swipe her tongue over his skin, taking a long lap to get as much cream into her mouth as she could before moving up to kiss him. Steve moans at the sweet taste and does his best to suck the flavor off her lips and tongue. And then Bucky does the same, and they keep doing it until the fruit and the whipped cream are gone, leaving him with an almost painful erection and a wet, sticky feeling on his chest.

“I’m gonna need a shower after this,” he groans.

“We’re  _all_  gonna need showers after this,” Darcy agrees. “Gimme that.”

Bucky hands her the can, and Steve is not that surprised when she sprays the length of him with it and clears a path with her tongue. Actually, he’s kind of looking forward to this part, because Darcy gives the most amazing b—

“ _Fuck_ ,” he exclaims when Bucky leans in too.

“Quiet, Steve,” Bucky tells him, licking his lips clean, the tip of his nose stained with the sugary substance. “Not a word, or we’ll stop.”

Steve bites his lip and nods, and can’t help but think he should’ve taken the lead after all.

“Here,” Darcy says, holding a strawberry out. “Keep an eye on the time, and eat this when thirty minutes has passed.”

 _Dear God_ , he thinks, because that’s the longest time they’ve ever asked him to hold back on purpose. Not to mention the time he spent watching Bucky make her come twice, plus the too long moments in which they’d licked his chest and nipples free of whipped cream.

He was about to spend the next half hour going out of his mind, wasn’t he?

“Okay, punk?” Bucky asks. In response, Steve carefully takes the strawberry into his mouth. Bucky smirks. “Atta boy.”

“JARVIS,” Darcy calls out, “could you set a timer for thirty minutes?”

“Certainly, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS replies, and behind him, the window lights up. Steve realizes he was going to have to lie down and look up over the edge of the bed to see the time, which means he couldn’t know what they were going to do until they did it.

“Fuck,” he says around the strawberry.

Darcy smiles at him. “Up, Steven, so that you can look at the clock and not get a stiff neck,” she says, and he shimmies up along the bed until he could hang his head slightly over the edge and see the timer. JARVIS, ever helpful, flips it so that he can watch the countdown comfortably.

“Hands on the bed,” Bucky tells him, and he obeys just as a tongue swipes up from base to tip, and he moans, wondering if it was Darcy or Bucky who did it.

He goes a little dizzy with want and lust as they take turns cleaning him off too, all the while never providing him with what he needs to reach relief. When the whipped cream runs out (and good Lord, but that had been a full can!), Darcy starts rubbing strawberries (or, well, he  _thinks_  it’s the strawberries) over him before cleaning him of that too. Bucky does the same, but on the rest of his body, providing just enough sensations to distract him from Darcy’s work.

“Thirty minutes yet?” Bucky asks as he sucks the juice off Steve’s chin.

Steve shakes his head, even though he knows Bucky  _knows_  it wasn’t.

“You know,” his soulmate says conversationally, “outside of Steve eating that strawberry, you never did say what would happen after thirty minutes.”

He whimpers at the implications of that.

“Didn’t I?” their lover asks, laughter hiding within her words. “How very unspecific of me.”

That they leave that conversation hanging speaks volumes to Steve, who could only groan unhappily as he realizes that _this_ was Darcy’s revenge on him for yesterday's game.

When the timer finally declares the end of the thirty minutes, Steve tugs the strawberry into his mouth and chews fast before swallowing quickly, and makes sure not to say anything despite the plea building in the base of his throat. He’s sure Bucky at least knows that the time was up, but neither he nor Darcy say or do anything differently.

 _It’s a test_ , Steve can’t help but think a little hysterically as he feels Darcy’s warm mouth move just below his length, sucking and flicking her tongue against the sensitive skin there.

Long moments later— “His dick looks really frustrated, Darce,” Bucky finally,  _finally_  speaks up, laughing a little. “You oughta cut our Steven some slack.”

Darcy moans around the flesh she’s got in her hot mouth, making Steve jerk his hips up for what seems like the hundredth time. “Yeah?” she asks after letting him go with a wet  _pop!_  “Think I should?”

“Look,” Bucky says, and Steve feels a calloused thumb brush over the tip of him, and he can’t stop from canting up to try chasing after the touch, “look at that. You’re making him cry.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Darcy coos right before she slips her mouth over him again, sucking hard enough that Steve yells and jerks up, the sheets ripping under his grip. Darcy smiles around him, her big blue eyes flashing with delight and desire at his reaction. “God, you’re so fucking adorable,” she says, pulling off him to,  _thank God_ , straddle his waist, trapping him between her belly and his. “Talk to me, baby, tell me how badly you want it.”

Steve is very,  _very_  happy to oblige, and he knows just what to do and say to get the relief he needs. First, he kisses her, tastes the sugar and strawberry flavor that permeates every inch of her mouth. Then, he slides his hands up her thighs and hips and waist until he can get his hands on her breasts, making sure that every touch brushed against her nipples and her areolas and the undersides of her rounded flesh. Third, he circles his hips, letting her wet heat grind against him to stir her arousal higher.

And then he pulls his lips from hers and says, “Bad as you wanted it last night, sweetheart. You remember last night, don’t you? God, you’d never looked better than when Bucky was filling your pussy up with cock and come.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” Darcy predictably moans and slides up, freeing him just enough to let him fall against her wet heat and sink him in, slow and steady. “Fuck, you feel so big, you always feel so big,  _god_ —”

The feel of her so wet and tight around him will  _always_  be exciting and wonderful, and despite how much he’d liked how wild it felt to sink into her in one thrust, he truly did prefer this, the slight tease of an unhurried glide, the way her nipples harden more against his chest at the gentle stretch and the little whispers that spill out of her as she takes him in, like the mere act fills her up so much everything just flows out of her in words said mindlessly against his skin.

“Darcy,” he breathes as his pleasure rackets up to an almost overwhelming level, “Darcy, sweetheart, fuck, you feel good, so goddamn warm.”

He feels Bucky’s hands slide up his back to his shoulders, kneading the tensed muscles he has there, and the pressure he’s putting complements the sensation of her flattening her cheeks on his thighs, and Steve has to scramble for purchase, for the strength to keep himself in check, lest he explodes inside her before she can even start to move over him.

Of course, that course of action turns out to be exactly what Darcy wants.

“Come inside me,” she murmurs, pressing kisses to his chest. “Come on, Steve, let go.”

“No,” he replies, voice strangled as he holds himself back. “No, you come with me. Please, sweetheart? I want to feel you come with me.”

“Okay,” Bucky says over Darcy’s attempt to persuade him otherwise. “Let’s get her there, huh, punk?”

“Yes,” Steve hisses as Bucky shifts on the bed so that he’s behind Darcy again, lifting her slightly and letting her lean back against his chest so that Steve has the perfect angle to brush against her—

“ _Fuck!”_  Darcy cries as he starts thrusting along that spot inside her, Bucky’s left hand on her breast while his right slides down and around her waist to expose and fondle her swollen bud. “Not fair, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god, oh my god, ohmygod, fuckfuck _fuck!”_

He groans happily as he feels her contract around him, the whole thing taking no more than twenty seconds, and he’s belatedly grateful that he’s no longer got his hands on her breasts because the sheets below him rip apart as he comes so intensely, he thinks he nearly blacks out the way Darcy had yesterday evening. His senses wink out completely for the several long seconds that pleasure sweeps through him, and when he gets his wits back, he’s already lying down, head hanging over the edge and body thrumming with endorphins. He’s still coming too, and he closes his eyes again to savor the sensation of her milking him for every drop.

“God, you’re amazing,” he slurs. “Both of you, dear God, I can’t even say how much.”

Bucky chuckles. “He’s blaspheming. Must’ve been a hell of an orgasm.”

“He’s still going inside me,” Darcy whispers decadently.

“Seriously?” Bucky asks, and then Darcy moves, moaning as she lies down on top of Steve before Bucky stretches out beside them, pushing up to kiss him. “Look at what forty minutes does to you, punk.”

Steve groans at the excitement he can hear under Bucky’s words. “Please don’t do that every day.”

“Aw,” Bucky says, but kisses him again and nods. “Fine. Only on special occasions then.”

 _Thank God_ , Steve thinks fleetingly, though the words are chased away when Darcy grinds and pulls off of him with a shaky gasp.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, slipping onto the bed, and Bucky leans up and swears too, alarming Steve into sitting up. But it’s not that she’s hurt, he sees instantly, and he bites his lip on a hearty curse at the sight of his seed spilling heavily out of her, Darcy rolling her hips and mewling, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” over and over again.

“Holy shit,” Bucky says again, then reaches out to push her thighs up, causing Darcy shudder and cry out as the position opens her up further to their gaze, the white substance oozing down between her cheeks. “Holy shit, Steve, look at that.”

“Fuck,  _James_ ,” Darcy moans, clearly high on the pleasure she’s feeling if she’s using Bucky’s first name, “James, c’mon. C’mon, fuck me, more, I want m _mph!”_

Bucky wastes no time in acquiescing, and Steve sees him slide right in, instantly setting a punishing pace that has Darcy dragging her nails into his back, leaving scores of red on his flesh as she wails against his lips. Steve groans as he starts getting hard again, and he knows this is going to be a long night for all three of them.

(It was.)

*

“We need to shower.”

“We do.”

“We need to change the sheets too.”

He grunts at Darcy’s statement. “Too tired.”

“Me too,” Steve agrees.

Darcy doesn’t say anything, but he thinks she rolls her eyes.

They lie there in silence for several more moments, until he feels Darcy shift and push herself up slightly.

“Are there anymore strawberries?”

“Few more,” he replies, the answer coming to him quickly. “There were twenty pieces in there and we only used seventeen of them.”

This seems to be all the incentive Darcy needs to crawl over them and reach for the bowl. “Yay,” she says, plucking a strawberry out and sinking her teeth into the fruit. “Mm,” she moans.

He and Steve groan in response. “Don’t do that,” he says.

“Wimps,” she laughs, Steve jerking with a short laugh that tells him Darcy got him in the ribs, right where he’s ticklish. “I lasted longer than you two _yesterday_.”

“You are five orgasms behind your yester-self,” he reminds her as Steve pushes her foot lower and away from his sensitive sides, “whereas we are three ahead of our yester-selves.”

“Wi-imps,” she sings, moving lower to sprawl herself over his side and rub the remainder of her strawberry over his nipple before bending down to lick his juice-sticky flesh clean. He groans, but lets her, his hand coming up to stroke the skin of her right hip.

“How the fuck are you so energetic?” he asks, considering he and Steve had just taken turns filling her up with cock and come, to borrow Steve’s earlier description.

“The strawberries give me energy,” she says in a deep, mocking voice.

“I don’t get that reference,” Steve says.

Darcy giggles. “There was no reference, I was trying to be funny.”

“Oh, hahaha,” Steve obliges her, earning himself a finger to his side. “Stop that!”

He smiles, enjoying the light-hearted atmosphere surrounding them. Or he was until they drag him into their tickle fight.

“Oh, is _that_ how it is?” he asks when Steve gets him in that spot on his right side—the only ticklish area he has left since his left side was ah, _restructured_.

“Get him!” Darcy cries, then shrieks as he targets her knees. “ _No!”_ she wails, laughing. “Barnes, you ass!”

He grins, chuckling at her feeble attempts to break free of his grip. “Gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart.”

Squealing, she sits up and grabs his wrists, trying to pull them away, but this only lets a smirking Steve settle in behind her and dig his fingers into her sides, making her let go of him and try to dislodge Steve instead.

“S-Steve, you jerk!” she giggles, wriggling against both of their assaults, her breasts bouncing and swaying enticingly with her every move. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” she laughs.

“So, Darcy,” Steve says casually. “Got anymore videos for us to watch?”

“S-Stop! Stop!” she wheezes, still snickering, and he and Steve let go, respecting the word, especially since she doesn’t use it often. She continues to laugh against Steve’s chest for several seconds, unable to stop at once, and he and Steve exchange smug grins. “You two,” she says weakly, “you two’re _assholes_.”

He sniggers, leaning forward press a kiss to her belly and move up towards her heaving breasts. “For makin’ you laugh, sweetheart? That hurts.”

“Assholes,” she laughs breathlessly. “C’mere, asshole.” He obeys, still grinning, and kisses her when she angles him up to her lips. Steve’s hand moves up his right arm to cup the back of his neck and tug him closer to Darcy, who moans and spreads her knees open to put her legs on either side of him.

“Take her, Buck,” Steve says before pressing kisses on Darcy’s shoulder. “Come on, I want to watch you two again.”

“Punk,” he murmurs, but slides his hands down Darcy’s thighs to hook around her knees and lift her up. Steve lies back so that Darcy could be more comfortable, that big hand leaving his neck to take Darcy’s knees, keeping her open for him and freeing his hands up so he could explore familiar territory, so to speak. “So wet, Darcy,” he says when he runs his hand over her, and it was no wonder, since they had yet to clean up the great mess they left between her thighs. “M’gonna slide right in again, aren’t I?”

“Don’t you always?” she asks, grinning, her eyes going darker as he uses his thumbs to part her folds and expose her clit.

He moves down to suck at her slick swollen nub, making her jerk her hips and give him that choked little noise as the combined flavors of her, Steve and himself bursts on his tongue. He hums. “Gonna make you soak the bed some more before I fuck you. That okay?”

She laughs. “No complaints here.”

He grins and gets to work, lips wrapped around her bud while he pounds three stiff fingers into her g-spot, and she comes within the space of ten seconds, yelling and clawing at Steve’s arms.

“Again,” Steve demands.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” Darcy’s whimpering two minutes later. “I can’t, Steve, please, no more.”

Steve grins. “Again.” He bites his lip and has half a mind to disobey. “She hasn’t said the magic word,” Steve reminds him. “Have you, sweetheart?”

She whimpers, but still doesn’t say it, only squinting up at him with a dazed, come-drunk look.

He bends back down and brings her to another screaming orgasm.

“Good girl,” Steve says, bringing his knees up and hooking her legs over them so he could free his hands and smooth them up to her breasts, and Darcy arches her back and moans as Steve pulls her up a bit higher, just enough so that he could kiss her, Steve practically devouring her lips while her head, supported by a pillow, hangs limply over his shoulder. The act also exposes Steve’s hard length, the tip brushing teasingly over Darcy’s tiny asshole, mesmerizing him a little as he watches her and their juices run between her butt cheeks. “Come on, Buck,” he says while kissing her. “Take her.”

 _Take her_ , he says. Jesus, Steve really did have a way with words.

Breaking his gaze, he leans down once more to kiss up to her breasts, supporting his weight by putting his arms on the mattress on either side of them and nipping at Steve’s finger so that he would let go and give him a pert nipple to suck on, and he does so while sliding into Darcy’s tight but soaking wet pussy. They all start to moan as he slowly and steadily starts fucking her, the underside of his balls brushing over Steve’s cock, which he’s sure is still teasing the entrance to her ass. He can’t help but think of how easy it would’ve been to start stretching her if they’d asked her to wear the plug tonight, of the twist her face would’ve made as they filled her together, of the sounds she would make as they fuck her in tandem.

And clearly, he’s not the only one lost in that specific fantasy.

“Ohmygod,” Darcy moans shakily. “Oh, Steve, I can feel you. I can feel you right there.”

“I know,” Steve replies, sounding wrecked and strained. “I know, sweetheart, _fuck_ , you have no idea how much I wish we played with your ass tonight. Put our fingers in your sweet ass until you could take me.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she sobs. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh _god!”_ she shrieks as Steve gives a brief grind that presses her against him, and he shouts into her breast, both because he feels his balls brush harder over Steve’s cock, and because he realizes Steve had pushed up to press his dick against her asshole, stirring her arousal higher. “Oh _fuck!”_ she cries as her cunt pulses and floods, Steve’s actions enough to throw her over the edge and into an orgasm.

He groans and pushes in deep, savoring the sensation of her coming around him. “No,” he answers when Steve asks him if he came. “No, she just feels so good.”

“Make her come again,” Steve says roughly against her cheek. “Look at her, Buck, she’s so pretty when she comes on your cock.”

Darcy whimpers as he moves again. “James,” she slurs, “oh god, I’m not done yet, I’m not done yet.”

“I know,” he growls, his chest going tight at the sight of her like this, slumped over Steve with that blissed out look on her face. It reminds him of last night, of her being so lethargic, of her coming and coming around him and around Steve, of her taking everything they put her through and recovering just enough to take just a bit more. “I know, sweetheart, I can feel it. I can feel you still going.” He nips at her breast and nuzzles the almost-gone bruise. “Gonna make you come again.”

She sucks in a hiccupping breath and jerks a hand up to his shoulder, sliding it to his neck and yanking him up, and he gladly obliges her, returns her sloppy kisses as he starts fucking her harder. Steve leans forward to nip at his earlobe and flick his tongue against that wonderful spot under his ear that never fails to ratchet up his need, and that, combined with Steve’s hand moving down to grab his ass and squeeze while pressing him even closer to Darcy, has him struggling to hold back the urge to blow his load.

“Fuck, you little punk,” he gasps against Darcy’s lips, which was a mistake, because Steve takes this as incentive to be more proactive, his hand sliding to the right to slip between his own ass cheeks. He stutters on a groan and quickly reaches back to pin Steve’s hand down on the bed, knowing the stimulation would undo him if he let it happen, and Steve chuckles, dark and satisfied, before pushing his hips up again.

Darcy turns away to squeal at the gesture, and Steve captures her lips immediately, swallowing the sound. He presses his face into her cheek, nipping at her skin and latching onto that spot under her jaw that—

He feels her breath catch in her throat and recognizes the way she goes stiff underneath him for several moments, and he pulls back just in time to watch her eyes widen as her cunt squeezes _hard_ and _fast_ around him, her hands reaching and scratching deep scores into his back in while she breaks her and Steve’s kiss to arch up and breathe a mute scream that lasts seven wonderful seconds.

He isn’t far behind her, the sight of her eyes rolling back as she falls lifelessly against Steve enough to make him come. “God, oh god, oh _grrrd_ ,” he growls, fucking her until he feels his spunk stop shooting out of him. “ _Fuck!”_

Steve hums, his hands coming up to cup and squeeze Darcy’s breasts while still grinding up, pressing Darcy up against him over and over, and he feels torn between letting himself collapse to the side and savor his release or stay right there and just feel Darcy be pressed up to him.

“Good?” Steve asks.

“So good,” he admits, turning his head to meet Steve’s gaze.

“You look beautiful,” Steve tells him, face flushed and eyes dark and a little unfocused. “God, I want to fuck you right now.”

He exhales unevenly and clenches his ass at the admission. It wasn’t that he’d never let Steve fuck him before, it was just that the sensations were too much, and he ended up destroying things. Darcy had almost been caught in the crossfire once—it was why they’d agreed never to try that with her around again.

“Darcy,” he croaks out.

“I know,” Steve rumbles, but he’s clearly still lost in that fantasy.

Inspiration strikes suddenly, and he reluctantly pulls out of Darcy and reaches down, Steve breaking out of his trance as his hand wraps around his hard dick and pumps twice before angling him up to Darcy’s leaking cunt.

“Fuck,” Steve says breathlessly, his pupils blowing back wider as he pushes into her, slow and careful as ever.

“None of that,” he tells Steve, taking Darcy by the hips and sliding her down his cock faster, making Steve toss his head back into the pillows with a curse. “C’mon, punk,” he goads, “you said she likes this. Prove it. Give her a story to tell.”

“God,” Steve grunts and slides his arms under hers to steady her by the shoulders before starting a quick pace that makes her breasts bounce. He moves to their right and reaches over to cup Darcy’s chin, careful to support her head, and then smiles as she starts to rouse many (twenty-four) seconds later.

“Oh my god,” Darcy slurs. “Oh my god, Steve, oh my god, holy shit.”

Steve actually _laughs_. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Fuck,” she sobs, and he recognizes the sound instantly.

“You comin’ again, sweetheart?” he asks, nosing at her nipple. “Comin’ from Steve fucking your open pussy while you were out cold?” She doesn’t—isn’t able to—respond to his questions, her glazed gaze locked to the ceiling, mouth slack as she bounces across Steve’s body, and that’s perfectly all right with him. “God, Steve, you should watch this later, see her face right now. Talk about fucking her brains out.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “God, I will. Let’s do it again. Get your hand down there, Buck, make her come around me again.”

This seems to rouse her, because she whimpers and blinks and turns her head to him. “James,” she says in that soft lethargic tone, “James…” She gives a small wail as he reaches for her clit and draws slow, steady circles around it, and it doesn’t take long until she’s shuddering, coming once more.

“That’s it, that’s—” Steve groans, clearly reaching his own release going by the sounds he made and the way his hips jerk to bury his dick inside her sopping cunt.

Darcy doesn’t stop shaking and gasping, but that might be because he hasn’t stopped touching her swollen bud either, watching as she continues to take everything they give her.

“God, she’s still coming,” Steve tells him some moments later before burying his nose into her hair.

“I can tell,” he says.

“Darcy,” Steve murmurs, bringing his hands down to palm her breasts again. “Darcy, you still awake?”

She gives them a small sound, similar to the one she made the first time he saw her look like this, all blissed out and nearly unresponsive, the only sign she was still alive being the way she sucked in air and trembled.

Steve chuckles, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Don’t go to sleep yet, we still need to shower.”

“Pretty sure we’re gonna have to do that for her,” he tells Steve.

Steve hums. “Why don’t you take her in? I’ll change the sheets and join you in a bit.”

“You sure you don’t wanna take her?” he asks, though he’s pretty eager for the chance to take care of her like that.

“Go on,” Steve says, pressing his lips to Darcy’s hair again before leaning up for a kiss from him. “Start the bath. Take care of our girl.”

The words have contentment settling and purring in his chest, and he rolls off the bed and darts into the bathroom to close the drain and get the water running.

(Darcy falls asleep shortly after Steve joins them, and when they settle into bed, he shocks himself by nodding off before his head hits the pillow.)

*

Darcy opens her eyes to a full bed at 11:39, both of which were a new experience. She smiles and nuzzles the hard chest under her cheek and goes back to sleep.

Darcy jolts awake at 11:43 and _swears_.

“Wha’sgoin’o’?” Steve asks, sitting up with bleary eyes.

Barnes doesn’t even _move_.

“Work! I’m late!” she squeaks, shimmying down the bed and off it, and then nearly tripping as she realizes what else she’s late for.

Oh _god_ , please don’t let her be an example for what happens when women take their birth control pills late. Please, please, _please!_

“It’s Sunday,” Steve says within a yawn as he rolls off the bed after her, completely unaware of the sudden panic that’s enveloping her.

“Jane’s not Catholic,” she replies a little hysterically, and is supremely grateful when she finds her clothes neatly folded on top of the dresser. “Neither are Tony and Bruce and Thor and… well, everyone else but you. We work on Sundays. Science! has no rest days!”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Steve murmurs, reaching out to stop her from finishing getting dressed and leans down to press a kiss to her head, then to her shoulder. “Science! has no rest days,” he says as he turns her around, “but you do.” And then he quiets her protests with a deep kiss that has her backing up into the dresser and arching to get closer to him. “Stay here,” he tells her between kisses. “Spend the day with us. Be lazy. Sleep in. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

She moans, and is incredibly tempted to accept.

“I have to—mm—go to my room,” she manages to say, though for the life of her, she can’t remember why at the mo—

Oh, right.

“Mm, seriously,” she pulls away and wriggles out of his hold. “Steve, I need to get something.”

“Like what?” he half-whines, looking put out. She lets out a strangled noise, because his naked, ‘just rolled out of bed’ look combined with his ‘I’m not getting what I want’ look makes him look unfairly hot and adorable.

“Like my pills,” she tells him thoughtlessly, flushing as soon as she realizes what she’d said.

“What pills?” Barnes’s voice suddenly rings out, slurred with sleep, but no less startling.

“Jesus!” she huffs, pressing a hand to her chest. “Warn a girl!”

“You sick?” he presses, sitting up and suddenly looking awake.

“What? No, I’m not sick,” she denies, then realizes that she was probably better off if she’d said yes.

“So whaddaya need pills for?” he asks, getting out of bed naked too, and _hello_ , this sight? Too much for a girl who really needs to leave.

“Birth control,” she blurts out and feels her blush darken. “Ngh. I gotta go. Oh god,” she groans, turning on her heel.

“Clothes, sweetheart,” Barnes reminds her, and she grunts in embarrassment and returns to take her shirt and pants, only to find them both holding each article of clothing.

“Guys—”

“You’ll probably have to hold it shut, sweetheart,” Steve says, holding the ruined shirt out for her with a frown. “Maybe you should bring some clothes over, just in case.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t ruin a girl’s clothes in the first place, Rogers,” she teases, sliding her arms through the sleeves and sweeping her hair out from under it.

“But it’s so much fun,” he grins, and she rolls her eyes as she reaches for her pants—

Only to find Barnes on one knee, holding it out for her to step into. Right. Wow. Fuck. Oh fuck, bad brain, stop that, _ngh_.

She puts one leg through, then the other, and then lets him roll the stretchy fabric over her flesh until it could snap around her hips. He presses a kiss to her exposed belly, moving slowly up her body until he can suck at that inconvenient but highly favored spot under her jaw, making her legs turn to jelly.

Steve joins in unhurriedly, his hands sliding down her ass and trailing up her back, under her shirt, lips pressing against her cheek before he moves to the other side, just opposite of where Barnes was to find the identical sweet spot that he knew was there.

“Oh,” she moans involuntarily as her body heats up, her skin prickling, nipples hardening and core tingling with desire.

“Stay with us,” Barnes says into her skin. “I’ll get you your pills and some clothes to change in. We’ll stay in and have sex and sleep all day.”

Oh _god_. “Sounds good,” she gasps a little mindlessly, canting her hips into his hand when it cups the building heat between her legs. “Sounds really good.”

“Pardon me, everyone,” JARVIS suddenly speaks up. “I’m afraid that both Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are needed in the lounge for Avengers’ business.”

Everyone goes still. “A mission?” Steve asks tersely.

“Yes, sir.”

“HYDRA?” Barnes asks, and Darcy feels her world start to narrow down.

“No, sir.”

She sucks in air, relieved, and the panic stirring inside her fades away. Both Steve and Barnes pull back, and she’s grateful for the space, and for the hands they keep on her body because she goes weak-kneed all of a sudden.

“M’sorry,” she hears Barnes murmur, thumbs now drawing circles on her hips. “Didn’t mean to do that to you, sweetheart.”

“S’okay,” she pants. “M’okay.” And, after a few moments of them just standing there, she realizes they intended to wait for her to get better and waves her hand at the door. “Go. Avenge. I’ll be fine.”

“We can stay,” Steve tells her, moving his hand up and down her back, but she shakes her head.

“Don’t,” she says. “Go. Now.”

“Bossy,” Barnes tells her, smirking a little, and then he leans in and kisses her, light and sweet, before pulling away and heading to the closet.

Steve does the same, though he leaves a little kiss on her forehead too. “Rain check?” he says.

“Uh-huh,” she agrees, and when he moves to the closet, she gathers her shirt together and walks out of their room.

And straight into Natasha and Clint.

“Fuck.”

“Look who’s doing the walk of shame,” Clint grins, holding his fist out to her.

She bumps it, and finds herself surprised that she’s not surprised they don’t look surprised to see her on their floor. “You already knew,” she says, not surprised about that either.

“Yes,” Natasha confirms, a little smile playing on her lips as she hooks her arm through Darcy’s and starts leading the way to the elevator. “You all sound very happy together.”

Darcy blushes _hard_. “You can hear us?” she squeaks.

Natasha taps her ears. “Trained to,” she smiles.

“ _Natalia_ ,” she hears Barnes call out firmly.

“Come have lunch with me tomorrow,” Natasha tells her, clearly ignoring Barnes. “We’ll get sushi. Or burgers. Whichever.”

Darcy smiles, a little intimidated because she’s never really had a one-on-one meal with Natasha Romanov before, even though the woman had trained her daily several months back. “Why not?” she nods, squeezing Natasha’s arm a little. “But also, why not both?”

Natasha wrinkles her nose. “Sushi and burgers _together?”_ she asks, sounding a little disgusted, just as the elevator dings open.

“Tash,” Clint smiles as they step into the elevator car, “I like her. Can we steal her away and keep her?” He winks at Darcy. “I promise we’re fun too.”

Darcy hears a low, familiar growl coming from behind her and feels her skin tighten with want as she turns and sees the look on Steve and Barnes’s face. _Unf. Elevator sex_.

But fuck, Natasha and Clint were there too, plus all the cameras? _Contain yourself, Lewis_ , she thinks, biting her lip. So instead, she turns her focus back to Clint and runs her eyes over him. “I dunno,” she says, grinning slowly. “Natasha, maybe, but you?”

He smirks back. “Need proof, hun? I can give you proof,” he fires back, running his eyes over her too.

“Clint.”

Clint doesn’t even flinch, and has the gall to smile up at an unimpressed-looking Steve. “Hey, Cap,” he says, shooting him a lazy salute.

“Stop harassing Darcy,” Steve tells him in what was clearly his Cap-voice. _Ugh, damn, hot_ , she thinks, biting her lip.

“Wasn’t harassing, I was flirting,” Clint corrects him baldly, bravely looking an unmasked Captain America in the eye. “It’s not a crime, and she’s single, isn’t she?”

Aaaand _suddenly_ , everyone in the elevator got really tense.

“Your floor, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS speaks up as the elevator slows to a stop.

She swallows, wondering if it was necessary for her to leave right now, because it felt like her presence was the only thing that was keeping this tension from exploding into a brawl.

“I suggest hurrying, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS adds. “Doctor Foster is waiting on the next floor. It seems as though she wishes to visit you.”

That did it.

“Shittyfucking fuck. Okay, thanks, J-man,” she says, powering down the hall and pressing her thumb to the bio-lock before shouldering her door open and slamming it shut. She hurries into the shower and tosses her ruined shirt into the clothes basket, along with her pants and her underwear, then takes the longest shower possible.

“Miss Lewis, Doctor Foster wishes to enter your room,” JARVIS announces as she regretfully replaces the scent of Steve and Barnes’s shampoo with her conditioner. “Would you allow this?”

“How does she look, JARVIS? Angry? Worried? Both?”

“Indeed,” JARVIS agrees. “It seems she wishes to ascertain your physical well-being, and if habits persist, inquire about your mental health after that.”

“Ugh, then no. Tell her I’m… having my red letter visitor and it’s _bad_ ,” she decides, remembering only then that she _really_ should’ve taken her pill first.

“That would be difficult for her to believe,” JARVIS points out. “She is aware of your brand of birth control and its side-effects.”

“Well then, if she asks about it, tell her I changed brands.”

“Very well, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS says in that wonderful, non-judgmental voice of his. “And if I may, perhaps you ought to consider actually changing your method of birth control. You work rather late hours, and cannot always take your medication on time. I would suggest an implant, as it is widely regarded as the most optimal and inexpensive form of contraception and fertility control. Or perhaps the shot, though this would require you to return to the clinic every three months, whereas the implant would last you three years at the very least.”

Darcy kind of just stands there for a moment, reeling at the fact that JARVIS was suggesting she change her medication with the subtle undertone of ‘because you are a horny deviant who sexes Captain America and the Winter Soldier every day’.

“I can make you an appointment with the clinic on the twenty-first floor should you wish me to.”

She presses her conditioner-slick hands to her face and _giggles_. And then she starts _laughing_.

“Miss Lewis?”

“S-sorry!” she says, waving her hand abstractly. “I just—hee-hee—I just need a,” she snorts and shakes her head, “I need a moment.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis.”

It takes her a few minutes to calm down and actually _think_ about it, and to be honest, that wasn’t a bad plan. It would certainly prevent her from panicking the way she did earlier, the way she is _right now_.

“Could you check how much the implant and the shot costs?” she asks.

“The injections cost sixty dollars, and the implant costs seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

Darcy almost chokes on her own spit. “Shot,” she decides immediately. “I’ll get the shot. Oh my god.”

“The implant would be more inexpensive,” JARVIS says, which was just _what?_ “Seven hundred and fifty dollars for three years’ worth of peace of mind is fiscally sounder, compared to the two thousand, one hundred and sixty dollars you would spend for the shot in the span of three years.”

“That makes sense,” Darcy agrees, “except that I don’t have seven hundred and fifty dollars, which I know you know because you can peep at my financial records.”

“Indeed, but your contract with Stark Industries covers your health insurance.” JARVIS pauses. “Your argument is now invalid.”

“Stop sassing me,” she grumbles, stepping forward so she could lightly beat her forehead on the wall. “Fine. I’ll get the damn implant.”

“A wise choice,” JARVIS approves baldly. “Shall I make the appointment for today?”

(“That’s it?” she asks later when the injection is over, and scurries back to her room before Jane could catch her out of it and realize she was lying about the period thing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that last bit is important. You'll see why later.
> 
> And the changing her birth control thing, it's a big significant decision too. I'm playing with a few ideas for it. And okay, someone mentioned a pregnancy trope, and while I'm considering it too, I'm also not leaning towards that right now, because there are so many other ideas to play with and pregnancy is a bit of a cliche for stories like this, innit?
> 
> And also, yes, the boys didn't use the products they bought for her. They were either too sexed out to remember they had it or they really wanted her to smell like them. In any case, I'm saving that bag of products for later. (If anyone saw the initial chapter 8, then you'll already know for what. Sorry about that by the way, I pasted the wrong sections and accidentally hit Post Without Preview T_T)
> 
> *EDIT: The ending was changed. Darcy was supposed to get the shot, but then sara47q told me about the Affordable Care Act, so I got more rope--I mean, plot--to work with. Thanks, sara! =D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I would like to point out that I changed the ending of last chapter. sara47q pointed out the Affordable Care Act to me, which I was unaware of because I am not a US citizen and am therefore ignorant of such benefits. (I also now wish to move to the US, lol.) ANYWAY, here's the original and what changed:
> 
> Original: Darcy chooses to take the depo-shot, and goes through with it because she didn't have the money to afford the implant.
> 
> Changed: JARVIS points out that her contract with Stark Industries would take care of the cost of her contraceptive of choice, so she agrees to get the implant instead of the shot.
> 
> WARNINGS: Drinking alcohol while bathing in a tub full of water. Fighting with friends. Mentions self-starvation, but that's not what's happening in here, okay?
> 
> Oh, and porn, of course, at the very end! =P

The Avengers are gone for just over six hours, but the fact that Barnes hadn’t yet gotten the green light to join them and had joined the ‘mission’ anyway told Darcy just how dire the situation must’ve been. JARVIS tells her Jane had been up there, seeing them off, but Darcy…

Couldn’t. Go up there. God, the mere thought of watching them _both_ leave has her feeling light and dizzy.

So instead, she chokes down a meager bit of lunch (toast, okay? Because that’s really all she can eat, she’s suddenly so damn _nervous_ about this, _seriously)_ before heading down to the large family planning clinic JARVIS recommends. The procedure itself is pretty quick, and with two [nauseating, almost panic-inducing] injections (one for anesthesia and the other for the implant that was wow, holy fuck, suddenly looking much more intimidating up close and _oh god she’s putting it in my arm!)_ , she is suddenly done and free to go.

Darcy stays in her room for the rest of the afternoon, taking her pill (because apparently, there’s a four-day overlap she has to do to make sure the contraceptives work) and [poking at her now-bruised arm where she could feel the implant under her skin (which was _weird_ and a little gross, _seriously)_ while] catching up on the latest episodes of her guilty pleasures on Netflix. For dinner, she sneaks into the kitchen to heat up some leftovers (and may or may not have stolen some food marked for Steve. Shhh!).

That’s where it happens, where she accidentally and out of absent-minded habit asks, “JARVIS, has Jane eaten yet?”

“No, she has not, Miss Lewis,” comes the reply, and Darcy winces as guilt suffuses her. Jane, while not as bad as Bruce or Tony, was still bad at taking note of the time, and would probably put Eating! off for Science! until either she or Thor came to make sure she got her daily dose of proper nutrition.

With a groan of defeat, she steals some food off Thor’s shelf and heats it up, not touching her own food since she knows she'd have to linger in the lab and subject herself to Jane’s scrutiny while she ate, because Jane wouldn’t finish her meal unless Darcy was there to watch her do it, and what else was she to do in the lab that didn't require her to talk much but eat?

“Darcy!” Jane cries as soon as she realizes she was there. “Are you okay? JARVIS said you changed your birth control! Why would you do that?”

“Please stop,” Darcy faux winces, and she would’ve pressed her hands to her forehead and belly if they weren’t holding food in that moment. “Ugh, I can’t think right now, it’s too gross.” Or at least, that’s how she remembers periods going, especially since that was one of the reasons why she preferred not to have them in the first place. If this implant brings her period back more than once, she was going to shift back to the pill ASAP, never mind the seven hundred and fifty dollar-price.

“Sorry,” Jane says in a quieter voice, and to Darcy’s surprise, she takes the food off her hands and replaces it with a foil of ibuprofen Jane had been keeping in her pocket. “Here,” she adds. “Did you want some water? You shouldn’t have coffee, it’ll stimulate your brain more. Oh, you shouldn’t have come in if you were still achy. I would’ve gotten something to eat eventually.”

“Yeah, at _breakfast_ ,” Darcy says, relaxing, pleased and a little touched that Jane’s soft side had won out over her curious side. “S’my job to look after you, remember? And besides, I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you,” she says truthfully, both because the last thing she needs is Jane realizing that itty bitty fact and coming after her _hard_ , and also because she’s only avoiding Jane because of her persistent ‘talk to me, Darcy, I want you to get back to normal soon’ mentality.

She loves Jane, honestly, and she isn’t _always_ a nag, especially when there’s Science! to be done. She can just be incredibly annoying when she gets into that ‘tell me how you feel’ mode, which has been incredibly prevalent this year.

Jane smiles, bright and happy at what she just said, and Darcy… well, she suddenly feels like the most awful person on the planet. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, taking Darcy’s hand. “I know I can be… well, like _my mom_ ,” Jane admits with a grimace, making Darcy grin at the comparison, because Jane had _definitely_ gotten her slightly bipolar personality from her quintessential overprotective mother who also happened to be a brilliant, if slightly kooky arts and crafts entrepreneur, “but,” she sighs, “it’s only ‘cause I worry, you know? I can’t help _but_ worry, and you never cut me some slack, so I just worry some more.”

Aaaand, the guilty buzz is gone. “Okay, you know,” she says, “that was turning out to be a great friendship speech, and then you do that ‘you never cut me some slack’ thing.”

“You don’t,” Jane points out.

“Well neither do you!” Darcy cries. “Jane, _god_ , why can’t you get that I _don’t_ want to talk about it?”

“Because it’s not healthy for you to—”

“No, stop! Stop!” she says in her loud voice, holding her hands up as she gets to her feet. “Stop regurgitating what the Internet and your psychology books say and tell me what _you_ think,” she growls. “Because I hear the same thing over and over and it doesn’t,” she clicks her fingers and gestures to her ear aggressively, “ _sound_ right. It sounds,” she searches for the word, “ _rehearsed_ , like it’s something you tell yourself.”

“It’s not _rehearsed_ ,” Jane replies in a low, offended tone. “All the books and articles I’ve read say that—”

“Stop with the books and the articles, damn it!” Darcy yells, slapping her hands on the table. “I said tell me what _you_ think, Jane, _you!_ Tell me _why_ you can’t _let this go?”_

Jane exhales in frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“ _Damn it_ , Jane, I _just_ told you!” she snaps.

“Well, I don’t know!” Jane yells back. “I don’t _know_ why I can’t let this go! I’ve _tried_ to let this go, but I _can’t!_ God! You have no idea how _frustrating_ this is!”

“ _Don’t I?”_ she says with a small laugh. “ _Christ_ , Jane, do you even hear yourself?”

“ _Yes!”_ she replies, with great emphasis. “Yes, I hear myself! That’s all I hear! You never tell me _anything!_ Everything I’ve read says to _be_ there for you, to _listen_ to you, but you don’t _let_ me!”

“Why _would I?”_ Darcy asks, unintentionally derisive, but also pretty much meaning her tone. “Why would I tell _you?”_

Jane rears back, looking surprised. “Because,” she says, her tone now much softer than her earlier one, “I’m your friend.”

“My friend,” Darcy repeats quietly, staring at Jane. “Who tells me what to do and when to do it, even when those things aren’t what I want to do. Who tells me to talk to her and doesn’t listen when she doesn’t hear what she wants to hear—”

“Darcy—”

“Who thinks I can’t decide for myself what’s good for me and what’s not,” she continues, tears burning her eyes. “Who thinks I don’t know that I’m sick when it’s _all_ I can think about sometimes.” Jane puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes watering too. “Who thinks I’m an idiot, and incompetent—”

“I don’t think that,” she breathes, putting her hand down to reach for her. “Darcy, no, I don’t think that—”

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps, backing away, feeling her tears fall. “Don’t. _touch_. me.”

Jane puts her hands to her lips again, starting to cry as well. “Darcy,” she says, lowering her hands, curling them into fists and tucking them under her chin, “I don’t think of you like that.”

“Really?” she asks disbelievingly. “Because that’s all I hear, _every_ time you talk to me. ‘Darcy, don’t be an idiot, you need to go to therapy’. ‘Darcy, this isn’t healthy, you need to do this’, ‘Darcy, do that’, ‘Darcy, why aren’t you listening to me?’ Well, good question, Jane,” she says. “Why do you _think!_ You keep _pressuring_ and _pressing_ and _forcing_ me to do things and _every_. _time_. you _do_ , it makes me want to _not_ do it. Because _every_. _time_. you _do_ , it _reminds_ me. It makes me feel _scared_ , Jane, do you _get_ that? You _set_. _me_. _back!”_

Jane sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes and mouth wide in shock.

Darcy swallows and crosses her hands under her breasts, digging her nails into her arms as she realizes what she’s just said. And realizes that it’s also pretty much true.

But _god_ , she hadn’t meant to unload like that. Not on Jane…

Not on anyone.

“Darcy—”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, unable to stand the hurt look on Jane’s face. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean that. You don’t set me back, I just—” She sighs and digs her nails into her arm some more. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper.”

“No, Darcy, sweetie—”

“Please stop,” she begs, and Jane shuts up. “I can’t— I can’t be here right now. I need to go.”

So she turns on her heel and goes.

(And to her relief, Jane says and does nothing to try and stop her.)

*

Already elated from the events that occurred during the mission and happily fed and watered thanks to JARVIS anticipating the whole team’s ravenous states and ordering in some takeout, all Steve wanted to do next was shower off and sleep, Bucky in bed beside him and Darcy if they could get JARVIS to sneak a message to her. Neither of them expected to enter their room and find it a bit muggy, the scent of their soap and slow music emanating from the bathroom, and the trail of clothes leading from the bed to the bathroom tells them exactly who’d made themselves at home. Steve actually feels his shoulders relax once he realizes Darcy was there, and it’s such a wonderful thought, the idea of coming home and having her right there, safe and sound and away from har—

Crying? Was she crying?

He hadn’t even realized his feet had taken him straight to the bathroom door until he sees her in the tub, damp hair tied up messily to presumably keep it out of the way, head tilted back on the rubber-padded edge, a half-full glass of wine half-submerged as it stands on her belly, her breasts half-out of the bubbly water, her skin pink and flushed and a little moist from the heat of her bath. It was a lovely sight, and it would’ve stirred his arousal had it not been for her slightly swollen eyes and her red nose and the sniffle she makes when she breathes in sharply and the empty bottle of wine standing on the closed toilet lid.

“Hope you don’t mind that I used your stuff,” she says, the glass tipping slightly in their direction.

That her voice was slurring a little tells him she’d had quite a bit to drink, something he’s never seen her do before, and he can’t help but exchange a worried glance with Bucky.

“What happened?” he asks, bracing himself for the unexpected.

“Me,” she replies, laughing bitterly. “Jane.”

“Ah,” Bucky says, and they both grimace, perhaps both guessing at what must’ve happened. “Want me to kill her for you?”

Steve shoots his soulmate a sharp look. “That’s not funny.”

Darcy contradicts him by chuckling just as he speaks. “No,” she answers, finally turning her head and opening her eyes to look at them. “But thanks, I ‘preciate the offer.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows at him before pushing off the doorway he was leaning on and stalking towards her, taking a seat on the edge and reaching for her cheek, only to fall lower to the arm she has on the tub, his face clouding with dark concern. “What happened?” he asks, turning her left arm out, and Steve strides forward to kneel in the space between the toilet and the tub when he sees the slim bruise on her arm.

“Birth control,” she answers as they both slide their fingers lightly around the area. “So that I don’t need to panic about missing the time I take my pills. Four more days and I can stop taking them completely.”

Steve exhales and presses his lips to her skin, a few inches above the slight bulge in her arm. “You could’ve left some of your pills here,” he tells her quietly. “Didn’t have to do this.”

Darcy shakes her head. “More sensible this way,” she murmurs. “Don’t have to worry about getting pregnant for three years. Of course, if it brings my period back, I’m going back to my trusty pills. S’the reason I started taking them in the first place, y’know?”

“Are you sure that’s a contraceptive?” Bucky asks, eyeing the bruise suspiciously. “What if it’s something else?”

She hums. “JARVIS can check,” she says a little negligently.

“I can confidently assure you that the implant is merely a contraceptive, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS says. “I detect no electronics or signals emanating from it, and I have reviewed the security footage on the twenty-first floor. All the usual personnel working at the clinic at the time of Miss Lewis’s visit were accounted for, and no suspicious persons were identified by my parameters. You are, however, free to peruse the footages yourself, if you so wish.”

They exchange a look and quietly agree to do that later, and Darcy seems to sense this because she smacks them, Bucky on the knee and him on the shoulder. “Stop that,” she says. “I’m fine, the appointment was scheduled for an hour after I decided to get the implant, it was a totally random decision no one could’ve predicted and prepared for, so no one could’ve possibly bugged me or something.”

“I could’ve,” Bucky tells her.

“You could’ve,” she nods agreeably. “But not everyone is you, are they?” She moves her left hand up to touch his silver arm. “There’s only one James Buchanan Barnes, and he was out bein’ a hero today.”

Bucky swallows and entwines his metal fingers with hers, and Steve smiles at her, grateful for the confidence she had in his soulmate. “We just worry, sweetheart,” he tells her, though he doesn’t mention _why_ the thought of her going out unescorted, even if it was only to the twenty-first floor, sent a wave of worry through him. It had to be _today_ too, didn’t it? Today, when every member of the Avengers Initiative had been out of the tower and hours away from returning if something had happened.

It had been unavoidable though. They had needed everyone there, even Bucky and Sam, who’d both proved invaluable to the fight they’d encountered.

She rolls her eyes at them, but it was a fond gesture, and it has Bucky smiling too, reaching up again to cup her cheek with his right hand. “You’re okay though?” he asks as his thumb smudges a bit of dirt on her skin.

“Yeah,” Darcy replies, shifting so that she was within his reach and looking up at Bucky with heavy-lidded eyes, and Steve finds himself itching to draw them like this, to record the tenderness of the moment on paper. “M’okay.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Bucky asks quietly.

Darcy’s face lightens with surprise. “No one’s ever asked me that before,” she tells him, her tone the most surprised and pleased and honest he’s ever heard it be. Going by that, and the way she’s been surprising him since he got here, Steve figures she must be one of those people who get really honest while intoxicated and smiles, because despite everything he’s just learned, he finds this aspect of her adorable (just as he finds everything else about her adorable).

Bucky smiles. “Been talkin’ to the wrong people then, sweetheart.”

She smiles back. “Should I be talkin’ to you then, sweetheart?” she volleys back, adopting the flirtatious twang Bucky (and him too sometimes) uses when they talk to each other. (Huh. So maybe not just _honest_ , but more… _open_ about herself perhaps?)

Bucky chuckles. “If you want,” he says, smearing the bit of black wider on her cheek.

The tension in the air ratchets up, and Steve carefully stays _very, very still_ , because he thinks he might just shove their heads together and scream at them to get it over with if he lets himself move.

Darcy, thank God, doesn’t make him wait any longer. “I want you to join me in this tub,” she tells him, eyes going dark as she lifts her right hand up out of the water—the trickling noise her action makes sounding loud under the soft strains of her music—and wraps her fingers around his wrist to guide his hand down her neck and over her left breast until he cups her full flesh in his hand. (Yep. Definitely more open about herself, and about what she wants.)

Bucky frowns. “Darcy!” he exclaims. “Why didn’t you adjust the temperature? Isn’t it too hot? Aren’t you getting cooked in there?”

The question has Steve looking up at the regulator, and he sees that she’d used their usual bath setting. The first time they drew a bath for her, that morning after they discovered the bruise on her breast and the bite on her shoulder, JARVIS had had to point out that she might find their preferred temperature uncomfortable, so they’d postponed the bath and gone out for a run first to let the water cool down. It seems she was fine with that temperature though, if the water was still hot and she was already in it.

Darcy grins and giggles, that come-hither expression she had been wearing shifting into cheerful amusement—a complete one-eighty to the sad countenance they had seen on her just a minute ago. “Fire cannot kill a dragon,” she tells him with a slightly British accent, and they both blink at her.

“I don’t get that reference,” he says at the same time Bucky asks, “What?”

“Are you trying to be funny again?” he teases her, remembering the strawberry thing.

She pouts at him, eyes narrowed. “See if I wash your hair for you,” she grumbles, reaching up to tug at Bucky’s clothes. “Off. And get in.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky says, getting up and tugging at the straps of his Kevlar.

Darcy looks over at him again. “Mm, you too, Cap.”

That’s the only time he realizes he was still holding his cowl. “Yes, ma’am,” he smiles, letting it fall to the floor and reaching for the zip on the side.

Within the span of a minute, both he and Bucky are naked and entering the very hot water opposite her, Steve hissing as the heat presses against the bruise on his thigh, making it throb slightly. It’s been over two hours and he knows the broken blood vessels have repaired themselves by now, and the temperature she’d used was just right—he can already feel his blood circulating, the heat helping to speed up his healing process.

“Okay?” she asks.

“S’perfect,” Bucky groans, slouching until he could get his body in completely. Darcy hums and stands up, water sluicing off down her body as she sets her now-empty glass on the toilet lid beside the bottle and reaches up to the shower ledge for their shampoo. “Damn, sweetheart,” he says appreciatively, looking up at her exposed, sudsy body.

“Best sight to come home to,” Steve agrees, running his hand up her leg and leaning forward to press a kiss to the damp skin just above her knee.

“Is it?” Darcy asks, giving him a half-grin as she moves to sit on the ledge beside Bucky. “C’mere, sweetheart,” she says, a small bit of laughter in her voice. “Let’s get your hair wet and lathered, huh? I think I see pieces of human in it.”

Both he and Bucky startle, and his soulmate scowls at her. “I didn’t even get anywhere near the action, _sweetheart_.”

Steve huffs a laugh, realizing she was just teasing Bucky and a little relieved that she was _only_ teasing Bucky, that she didn’t really _know_ what happened out there.

“You’re too easy,” she grins, then reaches for his left arm and tugs at him so that he could sit between her legs. “C’mon, get near _this_ action.” Bucky snorts, but shifts over, and Steve doesn’t bother hiding the amused laugh that bubbles out of his throat. “Steve,” she says, winking at him, “hand me the pink scoop, would you?”

Smiling, he hands her the small shell-designed dipper, and then watches a little jealously as she starts working on Bucky’s hair, getting it soaked before lathering in the shampoo. Bucky groans and sags into the water, the tension draining out of him as she works her magic.

“Good?” he asks him, trying not to pout and probably failing at it.

“So good,” Bucky slurs, making Darcy smile, smug and pleased at his admission. “Jesus, sweetheart, gonna put me right to sleep.”

“So go to sleep,” she tells him softly, leaning down to press a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “I wouldn’t let you drown.”

“D’you need help?” Steve asks her.

“No, I got it,” she replies quietly, smiling fondly at him. “You should start scrubbing off though. Your hair’s the only thing I’m washing for you t’day.”

That’s pretty much all he needs to hear to stop being jealous, and he obeys quickly, watching them as he works and smiling when Bucky actually drifts off for a few moments before snapping himself awake. “Go to sleep, Buck,” he enforces.

“Tempting,” Bucky grins sleepily. “But I think I’ll do that on a bed, thanks.”

“Mm, time to scrub off anyway,” Darcy murmurs, giving his white-streaked hair one last run through before sliding her hands down his back and nudging him forward. “Steve’s turn.” Bucky groans as he moves reluctantly away, and Steve can’t help but smile in anticipation. Darcy laughs at him brightly. “You look like a little boy in a candy store.”

“Feel like it,” he admits as he slides into place between her legs, tipping his head back eagerly. She gingerly pours the still-hot water over his head, and he moans and lets his eyelids flutter shut at the sensation, the brief heat and the sudden coolness in the air serving to make the experience pleasant. “Okay,” he says, “I see why Buck liked this.”

She hums, raking her fingers through his head and slowly making him sleepy—a feeling that becomes especially prominent when she starts to shampoo his hair.

“Oh my God,” he groans, slipping his arms around her legs to find purchase on the edges of the tub.

“Right?” Bucky says knowingly.

“Mm-hm.”

He thinks she spends the same amount of time on his hair as she did on Bucky’s, because by the time she finishes, he too has to force himself to stay awake. Bucky even makes a comment about how dirty the water had gotten because of him that Steve couldn’t bring himself to respond to, feeling far too relaxed to defend himself. And besides, most of the debris in the bath really had come from him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he manages to say, slurring.

“Don’t sweat it,” she replies, her hands sliding down his back and nudging him away. “Up and rinse,” she adds, reaching up to press the button that controls the drain before resetting the water temperature and activating the shower. Steve groans and lazily scoots forward just enough so that the warm spray would hit his head, washing off the shampoo.

“Look what you did,” Bucky chuckles as he bends down and helps him up. “You made Captain America _lazy_.”

“It’s a very specific superpower,” Darcy intones seriously. “Tell no one of this, or I shall have to use it on you.” She pauses. “Again.”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head, and then Steve yelps and feels suddenly more awake when someone gives him a sharp slap on the butt. “C’mon, Steve!” Bucky—presumably the culprit—says loudly. “Soap up and rinse off so we can get to bed.”

 _You did nothing to make you feel as tired as me_ , he almost says, but then remembered _why_ Bucky had been relegated as backup and wisely decides to keep his mouth shut. It was as inappropriate a joke to Bucky as the one he made to Darcy, and thank God that hadn’t slipped out of his mouth, because Bucky… he’d been _instrumental_ during the mission, had saved Tony’s life even. He doesn’t deserve such a careless remark, especially not from Steve.

So instead, he takes the soap and lathers up, getting rid of the grime clinging to his skin while he mentally flagellates himself for even thinking what he thought. Bucky does the same (the soaping up, not the self-recrimination, he hopes) once he’s done, and then leans in to wipe the dirt that still clung to Darcy’s face.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling, and Steve bites his lip to contain a happy, excited sound when Bucky leans in and kisses her, undoing the clip that held her hair up and letting her wet curls slide out of the twist they had been in.

“Anytime,” he tells her, and her smile grows brighter as she pulls him back for another peck.

“Bed now?” she asks, glancing at Steve, and he nods, extremely content.

(They won a battle, they came home to Darcy, and she and Bucky were doing so very well… all in all, everything’s turning up great, and Steve feels like he can call it a day and sleep for a damn week with a grin on his face.)

*

He wakes up when Steve starts to move, nuzzling into the mess of curls in front of him, breathing Darcy in and humming in utter contentment. Steve’s right hand flexes under his left one, then shifts away to slide down Darcy’s arm before moving back up to touch his wrist. Steve looks up slowly, sleepily, and he closes his eyes again, feigning sleep, and is rewarded with another content hum before Steve presses a kiss to his arm and rolls away lazily, sliding off the bed to pad into the bathroom.

He smiles at the predictability and tries to go back to sleep, but finds that although he feels no desire to get up, he also isn’t sleepy anymore. Great.

Sighing, he smiles as he looks down at the still-slumbering Darcy, pressed up against him with her head on his more comfortable shoulder, her right hand splayed on his chest, and moves his own right hand close to press it against her back. She smells like them right now, and he can’t help but bend down and breathe her in just as Steve had, relishing the idea of her wearing them so intimately on her person. It brings him a sense of peace, more so than the events that occurred on the mission.

To tell the truth, he hadn’t expected to do what he did then. He was backup, he was lookout, same as Barton, though while the archer had positioned himself closer to the base so he could pick off the sentries that came out, he had been told to stay by the jet with Sam at his side, just in case.

And that was fine. It was _enough_ , he finds unexpectedly, that he had been allowed to come in the first place, and what’s better is that it wasn’t just Steve who championed his attendance. It was Natalia and Barton, and even Thor once he saw them doing it, and neither Banner nor Stark had protested his joining them either. Sam had been wary, but only because he worried _for_ him, and that felt good too.

But really, it was getting to watch Steve’s back that made the trip fulfilling enough, and it was proving to everyone and himself that he could hold a rifle in his hands and not shoot any of them.

That he could actually help them. Protect them.

The moment the jet was sealed and in the air, heading back towards the tower, Stark had walked up to him and shaken his hand. “Good shot out there,” he’d said, and he had nodded, keeping his face blank but secretly thrilled at the acknowledgement, at the praise and silent acceptance. Steve, the silly mook, had been so proud, he’d been beaming the whole way back. He thinks that Steve would’ve been boasting if he thought he could get away with it.

Realizing Darcy was in their room, lounging in the tub—safe and sound, if a little emotionally roughed up—made him relax like almost nothing else, and in that moment, it killed him that _he_ couldn’t boast about what he’d done, because that would mean telling her where they’d gone. He’d seen how she reacted to hearing _that word_ this morning, and only then did he realize why everyone tiptoed around the topic when she was there. It was a trigger, and he’d almost done that to her, put her through _another_ panic attack, and _god_ , but if he could take back everything he’d done to her, he would.

He _would_.

The offer to kill Foster had been pretty genuine on his end. He’d always thought the woman was a menace, even before he started seeing Darcy in a different light. She was a damn scientist who thought she knew better, and he really, _really_ disliked people like that. He thinks the only reason Steve hasn’t blown up at her yet is because the woman wasn’t an outright bully, or because Steve believes Foster had good intentions at heart. Well, fuck that. The bitch made Darcy cry—she would be getting no quarter from him if she tried that shit again where he could hear it.

Nor would anyone else, really, not if they were going to do what Foster was doing.

 _How strange_ , he thinks then, because if he’d thought of this a week ago, he wouldn’t have cared this much at all.

He bites his lip then, looking down at her and dragging a silver finger over her jawline, unable to believe that it’s only been a week since he stopped thinking of her as… what he thought of her as. Jesus, he can’t even _think_ the word anymore, at least not in comparison to her.

Especially not after what she’d said about him, her words holding so much that he had no room to doubt her belief in him, her belief that he’d gone off to ‘be a hero’, that he wouldn’t have done anything else _but_ be a hero. He half-wishes he still _was_ Bucky Barnes, because maybe then he’d deserve her confidence, deserve both her and Steve’s… deserve her and Steve.

 _I’m sorry_ , he tells her quietly, pursing his lips against her hair, then to her forehead and over her closed eye and on her cheek until he can press them to her lips, but he knows the apology means nothing unless he actually lets her hear it, unless he actually tells her in person.

Steve emerges from the bathroom just as he kisses her, and he stops then, sliding his face down to gently nudge his cheek against hers, tilting her head to her right so that he could take in her scent again. The pressure of Steve’s hand smoothing up his left arm registers in his head until he can feel those water-cooled fingers cup the back of his neck, and he senses and hears Steve trail kisses up her right arm at the same time. He moves his left hand to bring Steve’s hand up over Darcy’s, then curls his fingers around theirs, half-wishing that he still had his real arm so that he could feel them, _really_ feel them, skin to skin to skin.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS suddenly quietly says, and he almost groans at the interruption, “do pardon my interruption, but you must be made aware that Miss Lewis hasn’t had anything substantial to eat in thirty hours.”

They both startle. “What? Why?” Steve asks, his tone just as quiet so as to not disturb Darcy’s sleep.

JARVIS lays it out for them. “If you’ll recall, she awoke around lunchtime and therefore missed breakfast. She had a single piece of toast for lunch, claiming lack of appetite due to her then-upcoming appointment with the FPA clinic for her contraceptive implant—which I believe she already discussed with you—and although she heated some dinner for herself, she failed to consume it due to her confrontation with Doctor Foster. She then imbibed half a bottle of wine, the last of which you witnessed her consume. I did attempt to persuade her to eat and convince her not to drink wine, and each time, Miss Lewis claimed she had no appetite, presumably due to her distraught state. She requested that I stop trying to stop her shortly after she started on the wine.”

“JARVIS, why didn’t you say something earlier?” he hisses, shifting Darcy so that he could slip out from under her and head to the closet without waking her up.

“Miss Lewis makes great use of my privacy protocols, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS reminds him. “My protection protocols are the only way I can overrule all other enabled protocols, and they only apply to a person should the person fail to care for one or more of their physical needs. The hunger module is scheduled to activate twenty-four hours after a person’s last meal.”

“I’ll get her food,” he tells Steve, already pulling on a shirt.

“Actually, sir, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering her favorite meals,” JARVIS interjects. “The food will arrive in approximately five minutes.”

“Huh,” he says, and then steps into a pair of loose pants. “How?”

“Mister Hogan has kindly agreed to deliver the food to your door. I hope you don’t mind, I also ordered for you and Captain Rogers.”

 _To hide Darcy’s order_ , he concludes, feeling both relieved and unsettled at the realization, and he frowns, because he hadn’t thought the secrecy would ever bother _him_ until just then.

Shaking the disquieted mood away, he turns back to the closet, his mind already predicting how this whole thing was going to go. He would go out to meet with Hogan and take the food, offer some form of compensation for his troubles, bring the food in, wake Darcy up, and let Steve unleash the lecture he knows is building in his soulmate’s chest, if the pinched look on Steve’s face is anything to go by (which it is, it’s a lot to go by, really).

And knowing Darcy, she may or may not distract him and Steve the way she had the day before. And really, he’d been impressed with her quick thinking and correct assumption that they would forego the lecture in favor of making her fall apart in their hands. But skipping meals and then knowingly drinking alcohol with an empty stomach _while in a tub?_ That _somehow_ seemed far worse than her holding her tongue on them hurting her, and neither he nor Steve could risk that happening again, lest it become a habit with her. And he knows quite well just how hard some habits are to break.

“Right. Thank you, JARVIS,” he remembers to say as he picks out another two shirts and pants and brings them to the bed.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS replies.

“Better get dressed, punk,” he tells Steve, tossing him a set. Steve understands immediately and pulls the shirt and pants on while he drags Steve’s pants over Darcy’s feet and legs and knees and thighs until the elastic clung to her shapely hips. He presses a kiss to her belly, unable to help himself, but represses the sudden urge to mouth at her skin.

Steve had no such hesitations, leaning in to swirl his tongue over her breast and areola before sucking her nipple into his mouth.

“Damn it,” he finds himself saying aloud as he stares at the two of them, “even asleep, she’s tempting us.”

Steve grins and pulls back with a slight sound. “Fascinating little thing, isn’t she?”

He smiles back and moves his hand to touch her cold but now-dry hair instead of her breasts, still not entirely sure that groping her while she’s unconscious was an ‘okay’ thing, even when Steve was doing it. He has to hear it from her first, and probably still not even then.

…okay, maybe _then_ , but still not before that.

“Mister Hogan is arriving, sirs,” JARVIS announces, and he rolls off the bed again.

“Wake her up, punk, and tell her to put a shirt on,” he says, making a pit stop at the dresser to tease out some cash from his wallet.

He hears Steve sigh as he leaves the room, and half-wishes they could forget the whole thing and just have a meal with their g— their _girl_ , he thinks determinedly. But if she’s going to be that for them, then they have to look out for her, and this… this was part and parcel of that.

(Still, as much as he cares nothing for superstition, he can’t help but cross his fingers and hope for a favorable outcome to this conversation.)

*

Darcy hums as she feels and hears Steve coaxing her to wake up, his words accompanied by the press of his lips on her skin and the glide of his hands over her belly and back and arms and _mmmm_ …

“Hey there,” Steve murmurs when she peers up at him.

“Hey,” she replies, careful not to breathe too heavily through her mouth, because _wow_ , her breath _tastes_ bad. So, to avoidavoid _avoid_ aiming that ungodly dragon’s breath at his face, she pushes her own against his shirt-covered chest and inhales dee— “Um,” she says, pulling back with a frown and tugging at the blue fabric, “what?”

Steve sighs and sits up. “Come on,” he urges her, helping her sit up, and then wrangles her into a shirt. “Happy’s coming up with some food.”

He stops having to wrangle her once she hears that, though she does frown at the clothes. “Doesn’t this just make me look more like I slept with you both?”

“No, you staying _naked_ makes you look like you slept with us both,” Steve tells her. “This way, we could always say that your clothes got wet while you were in the bathroom or drinking or something, so we lent you some clothes to change into.”

She makes a face of comprehension and approval. “Good point,” she nods, looking around and not finding who she’s searching for. “Where’s Barnes?”

Steve blinks and gives her a wary look. “Uh…” The door opening saves him from answering, and in walks Barnes, his wallet hanging from his mouth and his arms filled with two large bags of Burger King.

“Burgers, oh my god!” Darcy grunts happily, her voice almost managing to cover the hungry gurgling of her stomach at the heavenly smell. She holds her hands out and wiggles her fingers, telling him to “Gimme it, Barnes, come to mama, little burgers,” and making both him and Steve snort.

As soon as Barnes dumps the food on the bed and lets his wallet fall from his mouth, Darcy darts forward and yanks the top open to pull out one of the wrapped goodies, sinking her teeth into the buns and patty and cheese and pickles and mustard and ketchup and she moans in complete delight. “Oh m’god. Oh m’god, son of a bidj, so goo’,” she sighs around a mouthful of American cheeseburger. “Oh m’god, m’so starving.”

She has her eyes closed, savoring the flavors assaulting her taste buds, so she doesn’t see Steve open his mouth, though she does hear the crinkled smack of a cheeseburger hitting a firm chest. When she opens her eyes, Barnes is handing Steve a much larger cup of soda, and then pulling out his own burger and drink, practically devouring the former in five large bites and sipping his drink while pulling another burger out. Darcy is a little impressed, and has the sudden urge to sign him up in an eating contest.

In the end, Darcy has two burgers, Barnes has five and Steve has six, leaving two more burgers in the bag.

“Here,” Steve says, handing her another burger. “Eat that.”

Ugh, no. Darcy would _totally_ work on those, but her belly feels like it was already bulging. “Ugh, no,” she replies, letting herself fall back on the mattress. “Full.” She pats her tummy gently and scrunches her face at the obvious swell. Thank god Steve made her wear a shirt—she did _not_ want them to see her with the food belly look, and makes a note to keep the shirt on for at least an hour, though that wouldn’t really be a hardship, she thinks, because this shirt is Barnes’s shirt, and he keeps glancing at her and the shirt with that look in his eye.

Darcy knows possessiveness when she sees it. She’s seen it on the faces of her ex-boyfriends who’d sucked hickies onto her breasts. She’d seen it on Steve’s face when he first saw the bruises on her body that are in the shape of his hands.

And now, she’s seeing it on Barnes’s face.

 _Interesting_ , she thinks, but before she could further ponder this newfound data, Steve cuts through her train of thought and waves the burger at her.

“You can’t be full yet,” he says. “You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

It’s probably just the food coma she’s sinking into, but the frown he wears doesn’t hit her as hard as it probably should. “Just did,” she groans, taking the burger and hooping it back into the paper bag. “Swish,” she grins when it goes in, much to her surprise.

“Darcy,” Steve says, sounding incredibly like Jane when she was about to lecture her, and any lethargy she’d been feeling fades as she mentally braces herself for a sermon, though she has no idea why and what she did to earn one this time.

“Just try not to wait thirty hours to get a meal in next time,” Barnes suddenly says, his fingers brushing over her arm and up to her forehead, where he brushes back her hair. “Okay, sweetheart?”

She blinks up at him, feeling a little off-balance at the soft request and the slow-building realization that he was saving her from a Captain America lecture that was brought on by her not eating anything for an entire day. “Okay?” she agrees tentatively, and wait, seriously? That’s what this was about? Her failure to eat a decent meal in (wow) thirty hours (really)?

Because seriously, she _had_ gone down for dinner, she just ended up not eating it is all, and the events that led to that outcome were all circumstantial. It’s not like she actively went about starving herself!

Oh, god. Is that what he’s thinking? That she was starving herself now?

“You go back to sleep, doll,” Barnes tells her as he pushes one of the paper bags into Steve’s arms, and then winces for no reason Darcy can tell, except maybe because Steve is giving him a _look_ that is practically asking _THIS WAS NOT HOW THIS CONVERSATION WAS SUPPOSED TO GO_. “Steve and I’ll just take these down to the kitchen,” he adds with a pointed look at Steve, which is obviously code for _YOU AND I WILL HAVE WORDS, BECAUSE YOU BASICALLY FREAKED HER OUT BY SAYING HER NAME IN THAT TONE, AND YOU WILL CUT THAT SHIT OUT_.

Okay, so Darcy’s pretty damn grateful for the save. Seriously. She is. But she’s also a big girl, and whatever Steve has to say, she can put her proverbial big girl panties on and face the music.

“That’s okay,” she sighs, sitting up and folding her legs under her thighs as she grabs Steve by the elbow before he can move. “Steve’s got something to say, right? Let him.”

Barnes gives her a slightly confused and exasperated look, and Steve purses his lips, eyes flitting between her and Barnes, frowning like he’s missed something important. Huh. He probably hadn’t noticed the tone he’d used, Darcy realizes, and doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or worse about that.

“Darcy,” Steve starts again, though this time with a less stern tone, and with a softer look in his eyes, “sweetheart, please take care of yourself? I— _We_ …” He sighs, looking a little lost for words, which was a little confusing, since Darcy had been so sure he’d been about to lecture her about her ( _accidentally)_ not eating for over a day. “Just…” he gives Barnes another look and turns a wry smile in her direction. “Just don’t wait thirty hours to get a meal in next time.”

She breathes a short laugh, feeling a ball of anger forming in the pit of her gut as she starts to believe that he _is_ thinking exactly the sort of thing she’d hoped he wouldn’t. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Steve? Don’t tiptoe around me,” she tells him. “Not you too.”

Steve exhales and shakes his head and runs a hand down his face. “I don’t want you to take us worrying about you the wrong way, Darcy.” He levels a look at her that she almost can’t read, but from it, she can see concern and apprehension and muted frustration, among others she can’t put a finger on. “I don’t want to put more on your plate to worry about.”

“Interesting choice of words, considering you think I don’t put enough on my plate at all,” she replies, frowning at him.

To her surprise, he blinks at her. “I… don’t?” he asks, frowning. “What?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t play dumb, Rogers, it doesn’t suit you.”

Steve shakes his head. “I think you’re gonna have to spell it out for me, sweetheart,” he tells her, “because I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing here.”

Her ire turns into confusion, because what the hell other ‘thing’ could they even be talking about? “Fine,” she says curtly. “I didn’t eat anything for thirty hours, now you think I’m starving myself. Which I’m not,” she adds before he can say anything else. “I admit the toast thing was a bad call, but I was nervous because I got this,” she gestures to the bruise on her arm, pulling the sleeve up so they could see it, “and I _did_ go for dinner, I just—”

“We know,” Steve cuts in, placing a soothing hand on her knees. “Sweetheart, we know, JARVIS told us. And that’s not what I’m thinking, that’s not what I’m thinking at all, okay?” he assures her, and she follows his lead when he guides her onto his lap, hugging him back when he embraces her tightly. “You don’t have to worry about that. I know you eat.”

“Oh,” she says, relaxing at his reassurance. The man did sincerity like nobody else on the planet, except possibly Thor.

“I think we were more worried about you drinking alcohol on an empty stomach while lounging in a tub full of water that could fit four people,” Barnes tells her.

“Bucky,” Steve says reproachfully, probably at the frank way he just says it, but Darcy finds that she appreciates that, and she exhales, because when he says it like that, well, it sounds like a really bad idea.

Which it is. Don’t do that at home, kids.

“Okay, that one’s on me,” she admits, hugging Steve tighter and trying to convey her apology through touch. But that wasn’t fair, was it? Apologies meant nothing if you didn’t say them and mean them. So, “I’m sorry,” she says. “I won’t do that again, I promise.”

 _Don’t turn me away_ , a traitorous little voice in the back of her head wants her to say, and she holds her breath, suddenly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Why’d you do it anyway?” Barnes asks quietly, right before she feels his hand brush her hair to the side and his lips press a kiss to her covered shoulder. The tenderness of the moment puts a lump in her throat that she has to swallow back, because that? That was not the actions of a man about to dissolve their agreement.

“I didn’t even think about the tub thing,” she admits. “I just needed something to take the edge off, so I raided Tony’s bar. And then I needed a place to hide from Jane, so I picked this place. And…” she buries her face against Steve’s neck, feeling embarrassed as she continues, “I don’t know, I just hopped in the tub and used your stuff.”

“You’re always welcome here, sweetheart,” Steve tells her, and she reflexively wishes that were true with a slight pang in her chest.

“Thanks,” she says, instead of the _No, I’m not_ that’s offered up by that same voice somewhere in her mind.

“And we liked seeing you here when we got back,” Steve adds, his tone lighter and more pleased, even as it maintained a tinge of seriousness. “Coming home to you was the best feeling in the world, Darcy, and you were a sight for sore eyes too.”

She feels her heart skip a beat and scolds it for getting her hopes up. “Shut up,” she replies.

“No,” Barnes counters. “You were. A damn fine vision to behold. Even with the tears and the red nose and all.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighs, and Darcy giggles, realizing that she’d left a trail of clothes from the bed to the bathroom and they had probably thought she was out to seduce them when they first came in.

“Sorry,” she grins, slightly amused as she remembers how their homecoming turned out. “But hey, I washed your hair for you both.”

“Guess it’ll be my turn next time,” Barnes hums, and his hands start sliding down her back and up her shirt, moving around to her front. At the same time, Steve pushes her slightly away so he could look at her face while his hands moved up to her cup her cheeks. Darcy takes this to mean that the serious talk was over, that they were finally moving things back to their normal standard, and that no, they weren’t mad, nor was Barnes about to toss her out on her ass or stop their arrangement over her stupid actions, actions that had obviously worried Steve.

 _Thank god_ , she sighs quietly as she surges forward, pressing her lips to Steve’s, and he slants his mouth over hers, deepening it instantly.

She hears Barnes chuckle. “You’re too easy, punk,” he tells Steve.

“Says the one who has his hands under her shirt,” Steve says when she pulls back to gasp at the sudden flare of pleasure-pain at her nipples, his fingers flicking and pinching before swirling around her peaking buds.

“Shut up and put your hands in my pants,” she tells Steve, who grins at her, hot and dirty at the same time, _unf_.

“You mean _my_ pants,” he corrects her, running his right hand down her body to cup her over said pants.

“Doesn’t matter,” she replies. “It’s coming off either way.”

(And it did.)

*

Steve sits up abruptly, alert and worried when he reaches out and finds only Bucky in bed. Bucky, never one to fall asleep too deeply, doesn’t even stir.

Biting back the worry that’s starting build in his gut, he strains his ears and hears the shower running, and he exhales in relief when he sees that Darcy’s clothes are still on the floor. “Thank God,” he says fervently as he rolls out of bed and tries the door, peeking in just to make sure she really was still there.

Although the door doesn’t squeak when it opens or closes, Darcy somehow hears him enter over the spray of the water, and she turns and says “Hey,” wearing only a smile on her face, and Steve feels his mouth go dry at the sight of her. “Good morning.”

He grins back. “ _Real_ good morning,” he agrees. “Can I come in?”

“You want me to give you a good… _scrubbing?”_ she asks, eyeing him below the waist, and he… crap, has to decline that very tempting offer.

“Not right now,” he sighs regretfully.

Darcy’s lips purse and wiggle, failing to hide her amusement. “Hang on,” she says, quickly rinsing off and careful not to get her hair wet. “There,” she says, turning off the water and stepping out, taking a towel on her way. “Now you can pee,” she grins, leaning up to kiss him, and he chuckles with a small amount of chagrin as he pecks her back, the slight smell of their toothpaste wafting off of her.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Just go, Steven,” she says, making him yelp when she slaps his left butt cheek as she walks out, closing the door behind her.

Shaking his head, he does his business quickly, washing his hands and brushing his teeth immediately after before he exits the bathroom, and frowns when he sees she’s already pulling her clothes on. The hour is early yet, given that Steve and Bucky hadn’t gone on their run, so he’s not sure why she’s already preparing to go.

He thinks about saying _Hey, let’s have breakfast together_ , and imagines that Darcy would raise an eyebrow at him and reply _We have breakfast together every day_ and he would nods and point out _With the team_. _I meant just us three_ , and she would bite her lip and…

And…

His smile fades when he realizes that he doesn’t know how she’d react to the invitation, how she’d react to that scenario, and as Steve watches her pull her shirt on, he wishes (not for the first time) that she doesn’t have to do that, to leave them every morning to go back to a room she almost never sleeps in anymore to change her clothes and put her day-face on just to protect them from the people who disapprove of her ‘secret boyfriend’.

“What time is it?” he asks, glancing to the window as he walks towards her, and JARVIS obligingly puts the time up for him. “It’s too early, sweetheart. Stay a while longer.” He pulls her carefully into his arms and stifles her giggling with his lips. “C’mon,” he says, nuzzling her cheek with his and pressing his forehead against hers, “let’s wake Bucky up. He’s actually sleeping in for a change.”

“Why, Captain Rogers,” she murmurs, sliding her hands up so that her arms are resting on his shoulders, “you don’t seriously think that Sergeant Barnes is still asleep, do you?”

That has him slanting a look at the bed, just in time to see Bucky’s lips twitch up. “How’d you know I was awake?” Bucky asks, opening his eyes to look at her.

She shrugs. “You’re always awake before I am.”

Bucky hums and rolls off the bed, stalking into the bathroom with a quick “Don’t let her leave just yet.”

“Bossy!” she calls after him right before the door closes.

“He is bossy,” Steve agrees, then relishes in her surprised yelp when he picks her up and carries her back to the bed, her undone pants slipping off when he steps on it and propels her forward.

“Smooth,” she compliments him.

“Thanks,” he grins, then lets her fall back on the bed, following her in and kissing her again as soon he can reach her, tugging her bra down so he can feel her bare breasts.

“Steve,” she giggles and moans at the same time, an interesting sound that he has to hear again. “Oh, I need to go— _mm_ —need to go—ah!—have breakf _mph!”_

“Let’s stay in,” he tells her when he pulls back for air. “Do what we were planning to do yesterday.”

“Is Captain America telling me to play hooky with him today?” she teases, and he shakes his head, smiling.

“Captain America would _never_ ,” he emphasizes. “Steve Rogers, on the other hand, _would_. Come on,” he adds between kisses, “it’ll be fun. And I’ll bring you breakfast. And I’ll get Bucky. to cook you breakfast.”

“Barnes cooks?” she asks against his lips.

“I cook,” Bucky answers her as he emerges from the bathroom. “Better than Steve here, anyway.”

Steve bites back a smile and moves down her body, busying himself at her throat and chest and breast to leave room for them to kiss. Which they do, much to his pleasure and satisfaction.

“Whaddaya say?” his soulmate asks her. “Stay the day. Play hooky with us. Promise we’ll show you a good time.” Steve can _hear_ him grin at her and looks up to see them. Bucky has his lips right over hers, flesh brushing together as he adds, “Maybe test your limits a bit more.”

Darcy mewls and cants her hips into his body, and Steve knows it’s not because he’s touching her. It’s amazing how good Bucky is at getting under her skin, at getting all these reactions from her, and vice versa. It’s as if they were cut from the same cloth and had all the same lovely patterns embroidered into their fabrics.

“You like that, doll?” Bucky asks, then purses his lips before kissing her. “You want us to push you, doncha? See how far you go until you pass out again while we’re fuckin’ you?”

“Hell,” she groans before reaching up to yank him down to her, her tongue peeking out before her teeth tug at his bottom lip. Steve feels her legs slide up his sides, and he returns to lavishing her body with attention with a smile.

“Still haven’t answered, sweetheart,” Bucky points out, and Darcy’s whine comes clear though as Steve feels him move lower, Bucky’s head nudging his as he swipes his tongue over her nipple and blows over it, making her gasp and arch up.

“Not— Not fair!” she pants. “God, _god_ , I have work. I already disappeared yesterday, I’m so behind on… _ngh_ , on whatever Jane needs me to do—”

Steve smiles, inspired. “Okay,” he says, pulling back and tugging gently at Bucky’s hair to make him stop too. Darcy swears under her breath and glares at him as best she could with a slightly unfocused gaze. “Let’s play a game instead.”

“Oh god,” she whispers, jerking against him. “Steve, please no—”

“Not that game,” he assures her. “Well, yes, that game. But with orgasms,” he tells her, and she laughs.

“I think I like that game,” she grins at him. “Rules?”

“You call the shots,” he says immediately. “Wear whatever you like, but no panties.” He leans down and kisses her breast. “And no underwear for us either.”

“Interesting so far. Go on,” she tells him, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

He smiles. “We won’t look for you,” he adds, making it up as he goes and taking her work and their own schedule into consideration. “ _You_ have to look for us. You can use JARVIS, and we won’t hide, but it’s gonna be your job to find an excuse to pull us away if we’re with other people, and find a place for us to go to beforehand. And you need to do this… how many times did we find her last time?” he asks Bucky, who smirks.

“Eight times, punk.”

“Eight times,” he nods, looking back at Darcy, who was biting her lip and giving them considering looks. “What? Too much?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I’m just wondering what’ll happen if I don’t find you eight times.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says, grinning, “m’sure we’ll find something inappropriate to do that appeals to all of us here.”

(And they do.)

*

Darcy finds him first, as far as he can tell, and tugs him into the bathroom beside the kitchen, the same one he’d taken her into that first time during the last game. “Hi,” she grins, looking thrilled, and then pushes him back and _drops to her knees_. “Lock the door,” she tells him as she lifts his very interested dick out of his pants, and he pushes his thumb against the lock just as she sucks on the head of his cock.

“Get up,” he hums, because as pleasant as this was, he knew the game was made with her pleasure in mind, but then _she_ hums a negative and pulls off of him briefly, still stroking the length of him.

“Fuck my mouth, come as fast as you can,” she replies, and he exhales a heavy swear—heart leaping to his throat at the invitation—and slides his fingers through her hair.

“God _damn_ ,” he hisses as she angles her head so he can reach deeper inside her. “Fuck, Lewis, since when did you stop choking on cock?” What he could see of her face turns smug, and she hums around him as he pushes in cautiously to see how far he could go.

He goes all the way in.

“Fuck,” he groans quietly, sliding his hand down to her neck. “Fuck, doll, Jesus Christ.” He pulls away carefully to let her suck air in, then decides _to hell with it_ and pulls her off her knees, undoing the button and zip of her pants and pulling it down to her knees before bending her over the sink, his left hand on her belly and his right on her sternum, over her shirt and just under her throat, so that he could hold her up and she could watch her face in the mirror as it twists in pleasure when he stretches her slick pussy with his dick.

“Hohgod,” she whispers, sounding a bit raspy, and a thrill shoots down his spine as he realizes _he did that to her_. “James, fuck, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, c’mon, _yes_ ,” she hisses when he obeys, and he covers her mouth with his hand right before he thrusts in all the way, muffling her shriek effectively.

Now that he’s not in her mouth, he can go harder and faster, can use just the pace he needs to build himself up quickly, and he doesn’t even think about it when he slips his left hand down to pinch her clit lightly, coaxing her to come with him, which she does.

“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod,” she whispers against his palm, eyes closed as she comes around his dick, and he slides his hand down her chin and neck, drool and all, and burns the image of her like this into his mind. Once upon a time, he would’ve looked at her like this and thought of her as… as _that_. Now, all he can think when he looks at her—eyes dropping and head tilted back and body slightly bent and cunt milking his cock for spunk she’ll be wearing for the rest of the day—is _god, she’s so fuckin’ beautiful. How is that even possible?_

“I can’t wait to have you again already,” he says without thinking, and Darcy opens her eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror, and he feels his chest tighten as she leans back into him and tilts her head up to kiss his jaw. He meets her lips with his, watching her watch him as they kiss, and _god_ , he can feel himself twitching in interest once more.

They come out of the bathroom looking fresh, but he can’t stop looking at her during breakfast, feeling a little dazed at the knowledge that she was wearing twice the amount of come he’d expected to unload inside her, and was wearing it _with a smile, while everyone else was around, Jesus_. It’s a feeling that only increases throughout the day, because by the time she finds him for the fourth time, she’s wearing a new pair of pants due to her first pair getting soaked.

“You smell like sex,” he tells her a little wildly once they’ve secured the bathroom on the living room floor, pressing his nose to her neck and inhaling the lingering scents of himself and Steve on her. “It’s a wonder Foster and Selvig haven’t caught on yet.”

“Let’s not talk about them right now,” she replies, and he tugs her pants down and off one leg, props her up on the sink, her foot on his shoulder, and fucks into her without further ado. He kisses her both to quiet her sounds and to quiet his own, and it occurs to him that this is the first time they’ve ever both shut up while having sex together.

And suddenly, he _needs_ to talk and he _needs_ to hear her, and he doesn’t even _think_ about what to say, he just pulls back a bit and says everything that could possibly build her up higher and higher until she comes on his cock for the fifth time, squeezing him as she keens and shakes and slumps back into the counter.

“Do it,” she hisses, which is when he finally realizes what the hell he’s been telling her. “Do it, do it, do it, c’mon, Barnes, put your money where your mouth is.”

“Later,” he tells her. “Later, when there’s time. Gotta prep you first, else I’d hurt you.”

“So come hurt me,” she says, which shocks him a little. “C’mon—”

“No,” he says firmly, and he sees rejection flash across her face. He swallows and presses a kiss to her lips, one she—for the first time—doesn’t return. “No,” he says again, his mind seeking to fix this mistake he’s made as he trails kisses up to her ear. “M’gonna take my time with you, Darcy doll. Make you come on my fingers before I fuck you with my dick. Gonna stretch it out, stretch _you_ out until you’re so ready for me you could scream, and then I’ll play with you just a little while longer, ‘til you cry and beg for me to fuck,” he nips at her earlobe, “your,” he licks at the slight bite and sucks it into his mouth for a moment, “ass.”

“Fuck,” she pants harshly, and the dazed look in her eye tells him that he’s forgiven. “You’re a fucking tease, Barnes.”

“Why?” he grins, lifting her other foot up to his shoulder and spreading her knees so that they touched the outer sides of her shoulders. “You know I’m good for it.” And then he thrusts into her again, chasing his own orgasm this time, and he yanks her up for a kiss as he comes inside her, catching her behind the knees with his arms when she takes her feet off him, to keep him from bending her completely in half.

“God, god, god, make me come again,” she moans shakily, and he slides his hand down to roll her clit between his fingers until she comes around him, crooning in low, sexy tones. “Fuck, Barnes,” she pants against his lips.

He releases her and rearranges their positions so he can press closer, kissing her again— no, _making out_ with her, actually, slow and languid and completely sated. She winds her hands up to his hair, messing it up yet again, and he hums as she scratches his scalp lightly with her nails. He kisses her cheek before he pulls out and away, and helps her slip her pants up over her wet flesh.

“God, I am so showering before dinner,” she says with a slight grimace, and he nods, because letting the sex scent linger around her while having dinner with a table full of superheroes was just asking for trouble neither she nor they need.

“Good idea,” he nods, kissing her again, unable to stop himself from _wanting to_. Thankfully, she returns each one with great enthusiasm. “See you later?”

“Mm-hm,” she agrees, leaning up to kiss him again. “Later. JARVIS, is anyone out there?”

“No, Miss Lewis,” comes the steady reply.

He hums and moves away, doing up his pants before opening the door a crack to check if the coast was clear. It was, so he slips out first, strolling off to find Steve.

“Done?” Steve asks quietly when he finds him with Sam, the two of them playing a racing game.

“Yeah.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, what’s going on?” Sam asks, though his eyes never leave the screen.

“Prank on Natasha/Natalia,” they chorus, having long prepared for this question.

“Leave me out of it,” Sam replies predictably. “I’m not goin’ up against that lady and you two are crazy for even wantin’ to.”

Steve smirks smugly and shoots him an ‘I told you so’ look, only for his eyes to widen and his right hand to let go of the controller to gesture to his face.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, realizing he hadn’t really fixed himself up, too high on his orgasm to remember—which was careless, so fuckin’ careless of him—and he hurries to the nearest bathroom to clean off.

(No one saw him, thankfully, and if Steve later starts whining about losing his game with Sam, well, him losing had been worth it if it meant keeping everything they did today under wraps.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a troll, and so is Bucky, which makes them both assholes in Darcy's book. This, however, doesn't dissuade her from asking them to... um... y'know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The much awaited DP chapter is here. Steve, Darcy and Bucky are so excited! But Darcy also has feels about this, and you know what that means...
> 
> THAT'S RIGHT! PORN WITH PLOT!
> 
> LOL.
> 
> Special thanks to Rainne for acting as beta for this chapter, and for telling me that the DP scene was long over due! You ROCK! ;P

He knows all too well how much of a troll (as they say it these days) Steve can be. Darcy knows just how bad Steve can sometimes get too. So really, neither of them should’ve been surprised when Steve sticks to Sam and Natalia and Barton for the rest of the afternoon.

But they are.

And okay, so maybe he’s a bit of a troll too, because he stays right there beside Steve, the both of them smirking when Darcy appears the first time, chewing her lip as she considers the rest of the people in the room before glaring at them and retreating. She seeks them out three more times after that, with similar results, and by dinnertime, they both knew that she had lost the game.

“You assholes,” Darcy hisses at them both when she passes them in the hall later on, her hair wet from her shower and her body smelling like… oh god, was that _chocolate?_

Grinning, Steve tugs her back, pressing her ass to his crotch and leaning down to say, “Think of something for us to do to you later. Your choice.”

“Fuck,” Darcy breathes, then walks away unsteadily.

“Risky,” he chastises Steve even as he watches her walk away.

“No one was looking,” Steve assures him, then follows Darcy into the dining room.

Fortunately for his sanity, Darcy doesn’t stay for dinner, taking two full plates back down to the lab with her, so the indescribable need to sniff her doesn’t hound him as badly as it had when he’d first gotten a whiff of her. That, however, doesn’t mean his mind _forgets_ it. In fact, he’s on her the moment she steps into the room, pressing her back against the door and locking it while he buries his face against her neck.

“God, why do you smell like chocolate?” he growls as he trails his nose down her skin, trying to figure out how the fuck she smelled so good.

She chuckles. “Body butter,” she answers. “You like?”

“I think I want to eat you,” he admits, but holds back on actually putting his mouth on her. Smelling was one (weird) thing, licking her was a whole other (weird) ball game.

From behind him, Steve laughs and tells her, “He loves chocolate. If you haven’t noticed.”

“I have,” she says, her voice holding amusement.

“Hm, did you put that on for him, sweetheart?” Steve asks, and the suggestion has a groan building in the back of his throat.

“Maybe,” she replies playfully. “Maybe not. Maybe this is payback for the two of you bring complete _assholes_ ,” she emphasizes, then hits his ass with the satchel he hadn’t even noticed she was holding.

“Darcy,” Steve says, laughter in his voice, “I told you, you had to come up with an excuse if we were with other people.”

“Oh please,” she snorts. “Barton was _right there_. You know full well he would’ve called you or me on it in some none too subtle way, and then Wilson would _know_.”

He pulls back at that, forcefully putting away the urge to keep smelling her (which, frankly, was just plain weird of him to do, seriously) to say, “Would that really be so bad?” She blinks at him, clearly surprised at the question. “Sam wouldn’t blab to the others. He’s only here every other week and has never attended one of Foster’s asinine meetings. He wouldn’t judge or condemn any of us if he knew.”

“Seriously?” she asks him, and he instantly regrets bringing it up once he hears the incredulity in her tone.

He shrugs. “M’just sayin’,” he defers, “he’s not the worst choice if someone else has to figure it out. Anyway,” he segues clumsily, plucking the satchel from her hands and offering it to Steve, “what’s in here? Another toy?” Hopefully it wasn’t her conditioner and body wash again. They (well, _he)_ had completely forgotten to show her the products they’d bought for her the other day, the strawberries having captured her attention and her eating the strawberries having captured _their_ attention.

Steve takes the bag and upends the contents on the mattress, and then pauses as he (well, _they_ , really) considers the ten square packets and the red bottle and the familiar black plug that emerges from its depths. “Condoms, lube, hm,” he picks up the plug and looks over at them. “You want us to play with your ass tonight, sweetheart?”

She shrugs too, looking happy to let them change the subject. “I decided on what you two’re going to do tonight,” she says, biting her lip nervously as she glances at him and Steve. “Me,” she adds before they could ask, “at the same time.”

Both he and Steve go still, the offer not something they had expected—not tonight anyway. In fact, Steve had grinningly tried to bet him that Darcy would want them to fuck her ass, a bet he refused to take considering that was what he’d been thinking too.

This… was unexpected. _Especially_ considering _how_ she lost the game.

“Gotta say,” Steve swallows, his eyes darkening already, “didn’t see that one coming.”

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asks, frowning as he takes in the anxiety that’s suddenly sweeping up her body. “You don’t look ready for that.”

“I am,” she says firmly, then smiles weakly. “Just a little nervous at the idea, I guess.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to do it if you’re nervous,” he assures her.

“He’s right,” Steve agrees, looking less like he’s about to pounce on her now that he sees past her suggestion and takes her in. “We don’t need to do that now, or _ever_ , if it scares you.”

She exhales a laugh. “It doesn’t _scare_ me,” she says frankly. “It’s just… you’re both pretty,” she waves her hands at their crotch areas, her cheeks tingeing pink, “ _sizeable_ , y’know.”

“We know,” Steve agrees, grinning at her like he was finding her adorable again. Which, to be honest, she was, considering how many times she’s vocally noted the size of their dicks and praised them for it—loudly and with great enthusiasm—while fucking herself on said dicks. “You compliment us about it on a near-daily basis.”

Darcy flushes redder and tries to hide her face behind her hands. “Oh god,” she giggles into her palms. “You had to point that out now? Really?”

“When else?” Steve asks, moving forward to pull her into an embrace and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Darcy, there’s no need to force yourself into doing this, okay, sweetheart? It doesn’t have to be now, or later, or ever if you don’t want it.”

And then, as Steve speaks, it suddenly occurs to him that _he’s_ the one who made the suggestion in the first place. Well, fuck, no wonder she thinks she needs to do it. He slides his hand up her back so he could cup the nape of her neck and pull her gently into a kiss, hoping it conveyed his reassurance. He hears and feels her inhale against his cheek, and he breathes her in too, the scent of chocolate suddenly so overpowering that he has to force himself not to deepen the kiss or move his mouth over her skin to see if she tasted like chocolates too.

He pulls back minutely to look her in the eye. “What he said,” he tells her quietly, understandingly.

“But that’s just it,” she says just as softly. “I _do_ want it. I’ve even shown you how much I want it,” she adds, motioning to the window and reminding them of the video they’d watched of her filling herself with the plug and her red vibrator. “I’m just, ugh, _nervous_.” She grins faintly at him. “M’sure you guys can fix that in a bit.”

He studies her intently, trying to assess whether she was speaking the truth or simply saying what she thought was true. Her body language was nervous, her eyes just as anxious, but there was no fear or doubt in her, none that he could see. So this wasn’t just because she lost the game, he realizes. That was just an excuse to finally do it.

Part of him wishes she’d picked another time to offer this to them, but another part of him welcomes it. The latter is what makes him nod, and the former is what has him mentally crossing his fingers in the hopes that he hasn’t read her wrong, that his own eagerness to do this hadn’t impaired his judgment (and that the chocolate scent driving him crazy wasn’t just clouding his verdict).

“Okay, sweetheart,” he replies, brushing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “We’ll fix that. And if the time comes and you don’t wanna do it after all, you just say the word and we won’t do it. All right?”

She nods. “Got it,” she answers, and he leans down to kiss her, unable to resist the urge, and she kisses him back. Steve moves away and pushes Darcy carefully towards him, and he takes the silent cue and tugs her close, backing up until he could sit down on the bed and pull her along with him. “Wait, wait,” she says, and he lets go immediately.

But it’s not what he thinks, he realizes as she pulls back and lifts her shirt up off her head.

“Get naked,” she tells them while tossing her shirt aside and undoing her bra. “I want to make the most of the time we have.”

“So romantic,” Steve teases, making her huff a laugh as she pushes her pants and panties down. He shakes his head as well and pulls his own shirt off.

In less than thirty seconds, all of them are unclothed, and he slightly mourns the fact that he didn’t get a good look at her lingerie, a solid plain black set that he was sure looked lovely on her skin.

“Steve!” she yelps when Steve gives her a swat on her ass, and he suddenly wishes he could watch her come from a spanking again.

 _Next time_ , he thinks, because he was already going to play with her ass one way tonight. Doing everything at once would ruin the magic of it all, wouldn’t it?

“Get your mouth on Bucky for me,” Steve tells her, leaning in for a quick kiss, “while I get you all wet for him.”

He groans quietly at the prospect of having her lips wrapped around his dick again, remembering how deep his cock had gone earlier that day, and Darcy grins down at him before looking up at Steve. “Well, if you insist,” she says, earning herself another light smack from Steve as she climbs on top of him. “Hello,” she says before leaning in to kiss him again and pushing him up further along the bed as she goes.

“Hi,” he replies lamely, far more interested in touching her at the moment, but he moves at her urging until he’s against the headboard, and he fixes two pillows behind him while she pulls back and trails her lips and teeth from his chin down to his abdomen, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his chest and brushing her thumbs over his nipples just as she reaches the base of his dick and sucks. He exhales sharply at the unexpectedly amazing sensation, and fuck, but the girl is teaching him things about his own body that he somehow hasn’t learned in his ninety-plus years of existence.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” Steve tells her, and she exhales sharply too—a familiar reaction brought on whenever Steve says something that surprises and turns her on. Once she had her knees apart, Steve slides underneath her and uses his hands to lower her to his face. “Mm,” Steve groans, then makes a loud, incredibly obscene sucking sound, “you’re wet already.”

“Ta-da,” she chuckles, then takes him into her mouth, the vibrations of her laugh making him tuck his hands into the edges of the mattress and dig in. She seems to notice that and pulls back and looks up at him, her right hand moving down to stroke his shaft. “You never did come in my mouth this morning, Barnes.”

“Is that what you want?” he asks, feeling himself harden further at the unsubtle invitation.

“Not anymore,” she denies, smirking. “I want you to come on my breasts this time.”

He’s all too aware of the wounded sound that escapes him, but it’s too late to take it back. “Fuck, Lewis,” he says, then mentally chastises himself for the slip.

“Oh, you like that?” she grins, her eyes flashing with mischief. “Huh. Maybe I oughta let you fuck my tits instead of my mouth.”

“That’s a good idea,” Steve says from his place between her thighs. “Maybe I’ll fuck your mouth while he fucks your tits, hm?”

She loses the smug look and bites her lips while hanging her head and whining. “Oh my god, Steve,” she whimpers. “That’s not fair.”

“Why, ‘cause we’ll be ignoring you? Ignoring this?” Steve asks, pointing out the flaw in his plan and doing something that has Darcy crying out and rolling her hips against him. “Well, sweetheart, that’s what your vibrator is for.” Darcy gasps and shudders, and even he can’t stop the groan that builds and leaves his throat at the idea.

“Fuck, Steve,” he says, his voice sounding low and dangerous to his ears, and he fights to regulate the menace away. “Steve, let me watch her come on your face. C’mon, let me see that.”

“If you insist,” Steve replies, laughter in his voice, and then Darcy gives that choked little noise she makes when they play with her clit, right before she pulls her hands off his chest and cock to dig her nails into the sheets on either side of him, keening and rolling her hips and arching her back.

“Steve,” she moans shakily, and he can’t help but reach out and push her hair back, angling her head up so he could watch her pleasure twist her face. “Oh god,” she says, the black of her blue eyes blown wide and wild as she looks at him, “oh god, oh god, oh god, pleasepleaseplease _please!”_

“God _damn_ , sweetheart,” he can’t help but say, pushing her up slightly, catching her weight as he rearranges himself so he can kiss her, breathing in that chocolate smell that’s kind of making him feel a little insane with _want_. “God, you smell delicious,” he growls, his desires torn between continuing with the kiss and seeing if she tasted as good as she smells.

“You never did answer if you put that on for him,” Steve hums, and then does something that has her jerking up again. “Did you? C’mon, sweetheart, answer me.”

“Ah! Yes!” she gasps. “Yes, yes, I did!”

“Fuck,” he exhales, giving into the urge to just smell her as he relishes the fact that she’d done this for _him_. “God, you’re incredible.”

“Shut up,” she tells him with dark, unfocused eyes.

“No,” he replies, and then looks down to watch Steve, his nose pressed against the top of her mons while he lashes his tongue over her clit, his right hand clearly pushing fingers inside her, but the way they’re moving tells him Steve’s not touching her g-spot. No wonder she hasn’t come yet—Steve’s making her _work_ for her orgasm. “Christ, look at him, Lewis,” he says, moving so that she could see him while grimacing again at the automatic address.

“Fuck,” Darcy whimpers as she stares down at Steve. “Please, Steve, m’close, so close, m’so close.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asks, feeling so very willing to help her come as he takes in the scent of chocolate clinging to her left shoulder. “Tell us what you need.”

“No,” Steve says, pulling away from her cunt and making her whine and chase his mouth. “No, you get your mouth back on him, Darcy. You can come when he does.”

 _Jesus_ , he thinks, unable to not reflect on how dominant Steve can actually be in bed—something he only discovered after Darcy had joined them. Look, more things the girl is teaching him about his sex life.

“Fuck,” Darcy gasps and shudders, then presses her palm against the center of his chest. “Lay back and let me blow you,” she says, pushing him back against the pillows and the headboard, and he instantly misses having her skin right under his nose, the scent of her too muted from this distance.

“Romantic,” Steve says again, and she reaches back and down to swat his shoulder.

“Shut up,” she says, leaning down. “I don’t do romantic.”

He would frown and question her about that, but the thought slips from his mind in favor of focusing on watching and hearing and feeling her take his cock in her hand and stroking the length of him as her tongue flicks over his slit. He moves his hands off her to keep from accidentally hurting her, then sits back and lets her build him up.

It’s funny. He remembers how much and why he’d tried to avoid having her do this to him, and ironically, he was right. In a way, it was satisfying to discover that he was right to be wary, and was right about her turning him to mush the way she did Steve. But now he at least knows _how_ she’s able to do it, knows her secret weapons against Steve (and himself).

It’s her hands, fondling his balls and stroking what she can’t fit in her mouth and pumping when she pulls away for air.

It’s her lips, pursing to dribble spit over his tip, softening as it sucks and kisses and slides over every inch of his dick, and then growing firm as she wraps them around him and bobs her head and makes it feel like he was fucking her.

It’s her teeth, scraping his cock at intervals he can’t predict, making it feel exciting as he awaits the next time it comes, and with just the right amount of pressure to give each touch a dangerous edge.

It’s her tongue, fluttering and licking and curling and swiping and pressing around and against every vein, every ridge, spreading her spit copiously so that every time she pulls him out of her mouth, the cool air is just another sensation that drives him closer to the edge.

It’s her _throat_ , the feel of it clenching when she pulls back to a point where she can swallow around him, and then quivering around him like an almost-coming pussy once her lips are pressed against the base of his dick, as if his length is something she almost can’t handle.

And it’s her eyes, big and doe-like as she glances up at him, the blue rings too thin because her pupils are blown wide, the way they always go when she’s so hot and wet and ready to be fucked.

All of those things, employed against him?

Jesus fuck, but even if he’d wanted to hold back, he would’ve stood no goddamn chance with all that in her arsenal.

“Steve,” he grits out as he feels relief licking at him the way her tongue was licking at his slit, “Steve, make her come. Now.”

“Oh god,” Darcy breathes, almost rocking back and away, but she catches herself and moves in again, tucking her lips over her teeth and bobbing her head fast over the head of his cock, her tongue swirling over his tip, and he lets go of the tension that’s been building in his gut.

“Fuck, doll, I’m comin’,” he groans, feeling his spunk rush up from his balls to his shaft and out his slit, and Darcy moans and pulls back. He nearly misses the first strip of come that lands on her lips and chin, and he fights to keep his eyes open as she moves up, arching her back so that her breasts stood out, giving his dick a closer target to hit.

And hit he did—over the hollow of her throat down to her sternum and her cleavage and her breasts and nipples—all while she begs Steve to let her come on his face.

“Christ,” he hisses, lethargy and arousal battling inside him at the sight and sound of her. Arousal [and the desire to smell her again] wins out, and guides her up so that she’s upright and has her hands around him, his mouth meeting hers while he swipes his fingers over her chest, gathering enough of his spunk to make them slippery before reaching his hands down between her cheeks and swirling his fingers over her asshole.

She comes immediately at the added stimulation, shrieking a surprised “Fuck” into his mouth as she digs her nails into his shoulders and writhes against him and over Steve, her breasts slipping against his chest thanks to what was left of his come on her skin. He moves his lips off hers and moves to suck at that spot under her jaw, tasting the flavors on her skin in the process. There was coconut, for sure, and vanilla, and something sweet, and salty too—her sweat, obviously—but he didn’t care enough to really notice anything beyond the chocolate that was taking up most of his attention.

“Oh god,” she whimpers, “oh god, Steve, Steve, yes, yes, please, again—”

Christ. _Christ_ , he wants to sink his fingers into her ass, she’s killing him with everything she’s doing and _fuck_ , he wants to get hard again already.

“No, don’t!” she wails when he moves back and away from her, and he forces himself to ignore her desperate babbling to reach for the lubricant in the nightstand, the one she brought too far away in comparison. “Oh god, yes,” she hisses, changing her tune completely once she sees the blue bottle. “God, Barnes, yes, c’mon, you promised.”

“Fuck,” he says when he turns back and sees the two of them, Darcy flush and spread on top of Steve, who he suddenly realizes has been largely ignored so far. “Darcy,” he rumbles, reaching for her waist. “Let’s not forget Steve, doll.” _Damn it_ , he thinks at the slip, because that was the fourth time tonight already. “You let him fuck your cunt while I play with your ass, hm?” She leans into him, her hand coming up around his left arm as she presses her forehead into his metal shoulder and whines her agreement. “Steve, move up,” he says, lifting Darcy carefully so that Steve can just shimmy up from under her until he’s up against the headboard and using the same pillows he had used.

“God, that’s hot,” she groans as he sets her down over Steve’s lap, and he laughs and presses a kiss to her shoulder, taking in that smell again and unable to stop himself from sucking at her skin. “You really like the body butter, don’t you?” she laughs, sounding pleased with herself.

“Don’t wear it every day,” he tells her gruffly, his cock twitching in interest at the mere thought. “I might just lick you in the middle of breakfast.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “That— That would bad,” she says breathily, and he pushes away the thought that she doesn’t sound as wary as he thought she would be, because Steve chooses that moment to pull her slowly over him.

 _She said it was bad_ , he tells himself. _Listen to what she says, not how she says it_.

“God, sweetheart, you feel incredible,” Steve murmurs, and he raises his head higher to watch Steve’s face scrunch slightly as Darcy sinks onto his lap, her breath hitching as she leans back into his body, letting him catch her as she finally takes in every inch of Steve’s dick.

“Steve, Jesus, you feel so big,” she whispers, her right hand splaying over the center of Steve’s torso, the left still grasping his metal arm, and his cock starts to rise again, the sounds and sight of them enough to perk him up again. “God, it feels like I’ll never get used to having you inside me.”

Steve groans and blushes, ego clearly stroked and feeling embarrassed for it. “Quiet you,” he mumbles, taking hold of her hand and pulling it to his lips, kissing her knuckles before turning her palm up and pressing a kiss there, then on her wrist, and up her forearm until he reaches her shoulder and the spot under her jaw and her chin and finally, her lips.

He smiles at the look on his soulmate’s face, contentment and need warring with each other, and waits until they move, until Darcy had adjusted—because Steve’s dick really is quite ‘sizeable’, as she called it—before moving her hand over Steve’s shoulder, dropping the bottle he was holding beside Steve’s knee so he can touch her with both hands. He slides his palms over her back and cups her firm cheeks carefully, squeezing and pulling them aside before brushing his little fingers over the valley her plump flesh makes. Darcy breaks her kiss with Steve to gasp and turn her head.

“Barnes, c’mon,” she murmurs. “C’mon, _touch_ me.”

“Patience,” he tells her, smiling when she whines. “You need to take the edge off for Steve first or he won’t last long.”

“No, don’t,” Steve declines, holding her hips steady before she could move. “That’s okay. Let Bucky stretch you with his fingers first. If you like it, then we’ll keep going and if I finish early, that’s okay. We can always do it again, properly, if you like it. Okay?”

Darcy swallows and goes tense. “Okay.”

“Hey,” he says, letting go of her ass to move his hands up her back as he moves to look at her. “You say stop and we’ll stop.”

“I know,” she nods, but doesn’t relax.

He bites his lip and looks over her shoulder at Steve, who nods in understanding. “You won’t last long,” he predicts.

Steve grins at him. “I’ll last long enough,” he says. “And besides, Darcy likes it when I give her all I’ve got.”

That does it. “Christ, Steve,” she huffs, giggling as she buries her face against his neck.

Steve winks at him and slides his hands around her waist to cup her ass. “Never gonna forget that moment, sweetheart, you were practically coming while my come spilled out of you, _God_ , that was amazing. I want to see you do it again.”

“Fuck,” she says, the word muffled against his skin, her hips rolling against Steve’s, whose eyes fall shut as she moves.

He takes this as his cue to keep going again and picks up the bottle he’d abandoned, popping the cap open as he rearranges himself behind her. “Hold her open for me, would ya, punk?” Steve hums and spreads her ass cheeks for him, and he sees that she has cleaned herself out again. He leans in to swipe his tongue over it, making her squeal in surprise and toss her head back, and he growls as he discovers the same chocolate-y flavor there that’s prevalent on her skin. “Christ, Darcy, wha’ja do, fuckin’ bathe in chocolate?”

“N-no,” she stammers, trying to look back at him. “No, it’s lotion. Eep!” she squeaks when he tongues her, making both him and Steve chuckle. “Shut up.”

“No,” he says, pulling back to drizzle a good amount of lubricant over his fingers. He closes the cap and dumps it on his other side while leaning in to kiss up her sweat-damp back to her neck, sliding his slickened fingers over her asshole and pressing against it lightly to let her get used to the sensation, but not pushing in just yet. “Steve, still good?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve exhales. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

“She squeezin’ that tight pussy around you, Steve?” he asks, grinning when Darcy shifts and groans at his words even as envy strikes him (or rather, his cock, which is back to full form again). “Talk to me, sweetheart, what are you doin’ to our Steven, hm?”

“Just what you said,” she replies, panting. “Squeezin’ my tight pussy around him. God, Barnes, give me a finger, put it in my ass, please?”

“So goddamn polite,” he rumbles, the little _please_ at the end hitting him hard, and he carefully presses a finger against her hole, slipping in to the first knuckle when she suddenly relaxes. Darcy gives a little whimper and turns her face back to Steve’s neck, her ass quivering around his finger like it’s about to tense up, but then she visibly calms herself and takes steady, measured breaths. “Still okay, sweetheart?” he asks worriedly.

“More,” she says in a trembling voice, and he exchanges a look with Steve, who clenches his jaw before nodding at him to go ahead. Swallowing, he pulls just a little bit out and presses in a little bit more, watching her closely for signs that she wants to stop. “More,” she repeats, and he moves back before slipping in deeper, still watching her, until his finger was buried as far as it could go. “God, more, please,” Darcy whimpers, and he presses a kiss to her spine and starts to slowly pump his finger in. “No, no, _more_ ,” she whines before he could panic at the word ‘no’, “another, c’mon Barnes, _please!”_

He exhales over her skin and obeys, trying to calm the fuck down, and he pushes his finger up and down to make room for another finger before actually easing a second digit in. Darcy moans long and low at the new stretch, and fuck if he can translate what that means. “Still okay?”

“Yes,” she hisses, sounding almost annoyed. “God, Barnes, I’ve had your dick in my ass before, it’ll be fine.”

He smiles, amused at the sudden turnabout of opinion, but isn’t enough of an idiot to remind her of her earlier concerns. If she’s feeling relaxed, then there’s no need to bring up something that might make her tense up. Still, he doesn’t stop watching for signs of discomfort, which eventually comes when he tries for a third finger.

“No!” she gasps when he removes the third and brings it back down to two. “No, I can do it.”

He bites his lip and looks at Steve, who was already flush with the effort of holding back. “I know you can, sweetheart,” he says. “Steve, move, fuck her, come inside her.”

“M’fine,” Steve says, then falters at the look he gives him.

“Fuck her, Steve,” he encourages, “take her mind off things for a bit.”

 _Oh_ , Steve’s expression goes, and he nods and pushes Darcy up slightly, then starts to move, thrusting in and out in a steady pace.

“Oh god,” Darcy sighs, resting her head limply against Steve’s. “Oh god, Steve.”

“Jesus,” he hisses, a little thrown when he feels Steve _moving_ from the other side. “Jesus, Steve I can _feel you_ , oh my god.”

“Been feeling you since you started,” Steve replies roughly. “Took everything in me to not move.”

 _Christ_ , no wonder Steve looked so frustrated. He might not have been as patient if it were him in Steve’s position. “God, touch her clit, punk, play with her a little,” he says, pushing Steve’s right hand off her left cheek and replacing it with his metal one, and Steve clearly obeys because Darcy gives that little choked noise she always makes and squeezes down around his fingers.

“ _Hohgod!”_ she exclaims. “Oh my god, Steve, _fuck_ , ohmy _god!”_

“Relax,” he reminds her, moving up to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Relax, sweetheart, I need to you stay relaxed.” She moans shakily and nods, and when he feels her ass ease around his fingers, he repeats “Relax” a few more times before trying for a third again.

“ _Fuck!”_ she sobs as her ass clamps rhythmically around his digits. “Fuck, James, _fuck_.”

Steve groans at the same time, his thrusts turning firm and lingering, signaling his own orgasm.

Okay. Okay, he can work with this.

*

She feels full. She feels _so full_. Oh god, how much fuller will she feel when it’s _him_ inside her ass?

“Oh my god,” she thinks when his fingers pull back and push in slightly, feeling the muscle around him being tugged along despite the slick and smooth glide. “Hanh, fuck.”

“Still okay, sweetheart?” he asks.

“So okay,” she breathes. “So okay, _god_ , why haven’t we done this before? God, this is better than having the plug inside me when Steve fucked me,” she thinks.

“You weren’t ready for this before,” he answers her.

“Stupid me,” she replies, making both him and Steve chuckle, but she doesn’t care about that, too focused on the way his fingers are moving in and out, trying to imagine that it’s him instead and—

 _Why imagine it?_ she thinks, a little delirious from both the thrill of her fantasy and the sensations he’s evoking from her, and before she can _really_ think about it—

“Fuck me,” she whines, turning her head to look at him. “Please? I want you, I want you now.” She nearly chokes on a breath when his fingers suddenly stretch her more, tearing a sharp breath from her lungs at the mild discomfort, her need receding slightly in the face of the unexpected pain.

“Not ready for my dick yet, sweetheart,” he points out. “And besides,” he adds, his voice going low. “I did make you a promise, didn’t I? What was it I said?”

The breath she takes stutters as she fights to remember. “You’re gonna make me come on your fingers before you fuck me with your dick.”

“That’s right,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before licking at her skin, humming. “What else did I say?”

She whines. “No, please?” she begs. “Do that later. Do that later, _god_ , I just want to feel you right now.”

“M’gonna take my time with you, Darcy doll,” he repeats, and she shudders at the promise in his voice. “Don’t rush. Not this.”

“Please…”

“No.”

She whines again and feels frustration build in her throat.

“Dear God, the two of you,” Steve says, and Darcy startles, having actually forgotten that he was there.

Which was ridiculous, considering he was still buried inside her.

Ja— _Barnes_ chuckles, wiggling his fingers again and making her moan at the feel of his movements. “C’mere, punk,” he says, leaning into Darcy, and she bites her lip as she watches them kiss, abruptly reminded of her place in this rel— _arrangement_.

 _Don’t_ , she reminds herself. _Don’t do this again, don’t forget yourself, don’t fall any deeper_. So what if Barnes is acting like he actually wants her there? Like he doesn’t think she’s a whorish interloper he’s putting up with for Steve’s happiness? That doesn’t mean he means it.

 _He could be pretending_ , she thinks, still gnawing on her lip, still watching them kiss. And yes, he could be pretending. Maybe that makes it easier for him to accept her presence, makes her seem like a more bearable burden in his eyes. Yes, that was probably it. _He doesn’t kiss you for himself or you_ , she tells herself. _He kisses you for Steve, just like he fucks you for Steve and eats you out for Steve and touches you for Steve and tolerates you for Steve_.

Everything for Steve.

 _And you’re here for Steve too_ , she reminds herself. _Just Steve. Only Steve_.

And with that thought firmly in place, she braces herself mentally, careful to keep her body relaxed, and pushes back against his hand. She moans and turns her face back into Steve’s neck, clutching at his shoulders as the sensations race up her body, and then does it again.

“Calm down,” he tells her, sliding his left hand up her back in a soothing gesture. “We’ll get there.”

She sucks in a breath and tells herself not to fall for the gentle tone he speaks with. “Please,” she says, knowing how much he likes it when she begs. “Please, fuck me. I can’t wait anymore.” She remembers what he said and embraces her frustration, letting it boil over until tears are stinging her eyes. “Please,” she repeats, slanting her watery gaze up at him.

She sees the slightly blurry outline of his jaw clench at the sight of her tears, and she’s ready to catch her expression when he stretches her ass again, though that isn’t necessary, apparently, since it didn’t hurt as much as it had earlier.

He kisses her shoulder and hears him inhale the homemade body butter she’d made from scratch [for him]. “Steve, pull out,” he says, and she whines when he slides his fingers out of her too. “Calm down,” he says again, pressing his lips to her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

While he disappears briefly into the bathroom, apparently to fetch a couple of towels, Steve helps her up so he could slip out of her, then shimmies them both down so that he’s on his back, his head propped on two pillows, and lets her prop herself up on his chest, ignoring the sticky residue of Barnes’s come that’s still on her breasts as his hands run up and down her slightly sweaty back. “Still okay with this, sweetheart?” he asks quietly.

 _Yes_ , she thinks, because she’s been looking forward to this since Barnes dropped the idea into her head, since she took her vibrator and her plug into her body and came three times on them while wishing it was the two of them taking her at the same time.

She wants this.

[She just wishes there wasn’t a pit of something dark gnawing at her gut, telling her that she’s intruding, in their bed, in their relationship, in their lives—]

“Yes,” she nods, taking all the positive things she’s feeling and pushing them out until she can smile without worrying about alerting him to her uglier thoughts. “God, Steve, yes.”

As Steve studies her face intently, his fingers pushing her hair back, Barnes climbs back onto the bed, towels in hand, and moves the stuff she’d brought closer to them, foil packet crinkling as he takes one of the condoms. Steve nods then, Darcy clearly passing muster, and smiles back at her. “All right,” he says, then grins at her like the big sexy dork he secretly is. “You’re pretty damn amazing, Darcy.”

She breathes a laugh and blushes. “Shut up,” she replies, leaning in for a kiss to stop him from saying anything else.

“Darcy,” Barnes says right before he touches her back with his metal fingers, “still sure, sweetheart?”

She hums. “Still sure,” she confirms, turning to him and accepting the kiss he moves in for. She moans when he parts her cheeks with his palms once again and pulls away to suck in air as he slides his fingers back inside, stretching her once more. Thankfully, the discomfort is a minor detail now, though that might be because Steve’s no longer inside her.

“Still okay?” he asks.

She sighs and narrows her eyes at him. “M’starting to think that maybe I’m the one who should be asking that question.” She gasps when he drops his left hand lightly over her left cheek, and then moans into the pillow again when he soothes the sting away by squeezing her tingling cheek and moving his fingers out and into her. “Barnes, c’mon,” she pants, because as nice as this was, she needs something else inside her. “Please, please, _please_ fuck me. God, I didn’t have to beg you this much before,” she thinks, whining.

“All right, all right,” he says, sounding amused and pained at the same time. “Relax.”

“I _am_ relaxed,” she growls.

Steve laughs and leans in. “Come here, sweetheart,” he tells her, tilting her face so he can kiss her.

“Distractor,” she accuses him between kisses.

“Just let Bucky work his magic,” he says, just as Barnes pulls his fingers out.

She whines at the emptiness, mindlessly clenching down and immediately missing both Steve’s length and Barnes’s fingers inside her. “ _Barnes_ ,” she grits out, and then promptly shuts up when she feels him settle behind her, the outsides of his thighs settling along the insides of hers, his hands parting her cheeks wide and the tip of his erection gliding slickly over her hole. “Ohhhh,” she croons as he lets himself rest right on top of her, putting enough pressure that she can feel him there against her. “Oh god, _yes_.”

“So damn beautiful,” Steve murmurs, his hand coming up brush her hair back again.

“Steve, oh my god, he’s still not moving, make him move, please,” she says right before he swallows her words into his mouth, his tongue dipping in past her lips and god, she can taste herself on him.

“Relax,” Barnes tells her for the who-know-how-many-eth time, and once she does, he finally pushes in with a slick and easy glide that tears a high-pitched moan from her, her nails digging into Steve’s arm and the pillow under his head.

Barnes is _long_. Not freakishly so, of course, but long enough that the term _size matters_ sure as hell applies, and _god_ , but it feels like he’s pushing and pulling and pushing inside her for forever. She feels goose bumps race across her skin from her ass down to her legs and up to the hair on her head with every motion, and belatedly realizes she’s practically been singing a low steady tune when he bottoms out within her completely.

“Okay?” he asks her, and it takes her a few moments to respond.

“Yes,” she pants, opening her eyes. Steve smiles at her, looking proud and pleased, and fuck, that—and _only_ that—is all she needs to know. “God, oh god, Steve.”

“What is it?” Steve asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

She presses her whimper into his lips. “Feels good,” she tells him, banishing the worry that had appeared on his face. “He feels so good, oh my god.” She muffles herself on his lips again, and he kisses her back with a low growl, his hands—both of them this time—coming up to cup her cheeks, thumbs stroking the two sides under her jaw that makes her moan and then wail when she squeezes around the length inside her, Barnes groaning and slipping his hands down to their usual place on her hips. “Tell him to fuck me now,” she says to Steve frantically. “Tell him please?”

“No, you just let him take you, sweetheart,” he replies, making her shudder. “You just relax and feel everything. We got all the time we need for this. No need to rush.”

Thankfully, Barnes obliges her, pulling back and pushing in carefully, starting a pace that builds her up just right. It gets even better when he leans the both of them down, because she suddenly feels Steve pressing against her mound, hard and ready once more, and the thought of him so close to her like this—the thought of taking him while Barnes is inside her ass—has her _leaking_ , has her own juices sliding down her flesh, and she keens at the sensations, at how incredible it feels.

“Please,” she finds herself whispering, “please, I want him, I want him, I want him—”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Barnes says. “Give him a second, okay? Steve,” he adds, handing him their lube.

“Don’t need that, Jesus, Barnes, I’m so wet already,” she groans upon seeing the reason for the delay.

“Steve’s a big boy, Darcy,” he reminds her, moving his hands up to her breasts, his fingers pinching her nipples lightly and taking her breath away for several moments, distracting her from watching Steve coat his length. “Gotta make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

“Much,” she murmurs, biting her lip as she pushes up to look down at him, suddenly remembering why she was so apprehensive about this part.

“You can say no,” they chorus, and Steve blinks up at Barnes with a surprised grin.

“That’s cute,” she tells them, then pushes her anxiety away and makes grabby hands at Steve. “Now gimme.”

Steve snorts. “So romantic,” he says again.

“Still don’t do romantic,” she replies.

“Ready?” Barnes rumbles in her ear, and she sucks in a breath, nerves getting the better of her again.

“Yes,” she whispers, biting her lip as she eyes Steve’s erection.

And then Barnes pulls out completely. She groans and nearly protests, but then Barnes slides his hands down to her hips, and then slides _her_ down over Steve, fast and breathtaking, and she grunts in surprise and pleasure, her thoughts skittering away at the intense sensation.

“Lean forward, sweetheart,” he tells her, and with an audible gulp, she obeys, pressing her body flat against Steve.  He kisses her and gathers her hair over one shoulder, his hand trailing down to her breast and toying with a nipple.  He tugs at her bottom lip with his teeth and sucks at it, distracting her long enough that she only realizes Barnes is sliding back in when he’s already halfway back inside her. She sucks in a sharp breath when she feels his skin against her ass, shocked at how easy it is to take them in like this, to have them both _like this_.

And then she keens and presses her forehead against Steve’s as she registers the utter _fullness_ of her body, and she thinks she might’ve come already because it feels like she’s _flying_. Or maybe that’s what being _this full_ is like, feeling high and breathless and just dizzy with exhilaration.

It feels like triumph and victory and success.

It feels like ecstasy.

It feels—

“ _Darcy_ ,” Steve calls urgently, his hands moving to cup her cheeks. “Darcy, _breathe_ , sweetheart, come on.”

“I’m pulling out,” James says, and _that_ pulls her out of the stupor she had sunken into, her hand snapping to his metal arm.

“Don’t,” she chokes out. “Don’t… move.”

“Are you hurt?” he demands, and the question, to her, seems _ludicrous_ , because ‘ _is she hurt’_ , _Jesus Christ_. Still, she can’t bring herself to laugh, but only mostly because she, as Steve had so kindly pointed out, had stopped breathing at some point.

“No.” She closes her eyes and tells herself to breathe. “Full.” And then she takes an actual breath of air into her lungs and holy _god_ , even just breathing makes her _feel_ them, feel the firm chest and abdomen pressed against her back and the hard length deep inside her ass, feel the equally hard chest and abdomen pressed against her breasts and her belly and the thickness stretching the very core of her, and she whimpers as James moves ever so minutely, because she feels that too and it. is. _glorious_.

Su-fucking-perb.

Out-fucking-standing.

“Darcy,” Steve murmurs, thumbs brushing under her eyes, “you gotta talk to us, sweetheart.”

Oh god. Logic. Okay. She can do that. Just give her a minute to find hers and she might be able to answer in full sentences.

“Darcy, what do you want us to do?” she hears James ask.

Okay, that one’s easy. “Move,” she says, because she’s full and feeling wonderful and if this sex is going to be anything like the other sex she’s been having, then please, for god’s sake— “Fuck me.”

“Breathe first,” James tells her, and she takes another breath, realizing she’d been holding that last one in too.

“Please,” she says, then breathes again. Okay, getting easier. “ _Move_.”

Steve’s the first one to obey, slowly dragging himself out of her, and she struggles for her next breath because _holy shit, oh god, that’s amazing_. “Oh god,” Darcy whispers, because this is like _nothing_ she’s felt before and _more_ than she’d imagined and _everything_ she hoped it would be. “Steve. _Steve_.” Her trembling voice has him looking back down at her, her face scrunching up as he pushes back in.

“Darcy,” Steve murmurs into her ear, his hands sliding down her shoulders to cup her breasts. “It’s okay, we’ve got you.”

And then James gives a long groan, loud and low at the same time. “God _damn_ , Lewis,” he hisses, “ _goddamn_ , I can feel him sliding in, _fuck_ , why haven’t we done this before? I wanna do this all the time, just feel him fuck into you, his cock fillin’ you up right beside my dick—”

And that’s all she needs to get her mouth running too, gasping and babbling, calling out to God and asking James to _move, god-fucking-damn it_ and telling Steve how good he feels inside her, how wide he’s stretching her, and she starts to roll her hips ever so slightly every time he breaches her.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve cajoles as he starts to go a little faster, “move. Our girl can take it, look at her, she’s already taking it.”

“Yes,” she exhales, finally rousing and leaning lower to tug at Steve’s nipple, and he thrusts in reflexively, fast and full and actually pushing her up against James. “ _Yes_ , Steve, just like that, pleaseplease _please_ just like that.”

Finally, James swears and pulls back when Steve pushes in, and Darcy cries out against Steve’s neck, the sensations blowing her mind away again.

“Such a good girl, isn’t she, Buck?” Steve says, his hand smoothing over her back to reach for the curls of hair that haven’t fallen forward over her shoulders. “Taking both of us like this. So fucking perfect. Is it good, sweetheart?” he asks, and Darcy nods rapidly. “How good?”

“ _So_ good,” she answers. “So good, please, James, please, just like that, baby, please, I need— _Yes!_ ” she cries, hair flipping back as she jerks up, gasping as she feels herself speeding faster and closer to orgasm. “Oh, just like that, oh, _grrrd_. Steve, Steve, please, harder, just a little— Yeah, _yes_ , just like that—”

“Oh, fuck,” James groans against her back, and he jerks Darcy bodily into Steve.

“Fuck!” Darcy squeals, flinching at his motion and then gasping as it only lifts her up over them both, her walls dragging tightly over them. “Oh fuckohfuck—!”

James suddenly slows his movements. “Are you hurt?”

“Nonono, pleasedon’tstopdon’tstop,” she sobs mindlessly, rocking back and forth as she presses her head against his shoulder and tucks her face under his jaw, her hand coming up to wind over his neck, and James turns to kiss her, her tongue slipping in past his lips and he sucks on it lightly and flicks his own against it, then scrapes his teeth over her tongue as he pulls back. “God!” she gasps. “God, so close, I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m there, I’m right there, pleasepleaseplease, let me come, I want to come, I want to come around you both, I want to come while you fuck me—”

“ _Christ_ ,” James hisses, and then she feels him pound into her harder while his hand reaches down and exposes her sensitive bud before sliding the tips of his fingers over her rapidly from side to side.

Darcy stops breathing and feels her body _explode_.

*

Steve watches with wide eyes as air whooshes out of Darcy’s mouth, like she’d been punched in the gut. Her body freezes up, she stops breathing, and her mouth drops open with a hurt-sounding wheeze.

For a moment, he thinks she’s about to scream.

And then she gushes all over Steve, the normally vice-like grip of her muscles turning into mere flutters at the tight fit, and a blasphemous sentence escapes Steve as he gets pushed out by the initial spray, though he sinks back inside Darcy completely once it’s done, the lingering sensation of her release too good a feeling to miss.

He watches her with unblinking eyes, taking in this new detail about the woman he’s been sleeping with for almost a year and committing it to memory. Even Bucky isn’t unaffected, burying himself deep with a loud string of snarled curses and slanting his eyes to her face, his hand never ceasing in its movements.

Finally, Darcy inhales, her eyes watering quickly and spilling tears right before she starts shuddering between them. Her gasps for air turn into a wail as her hips begin to roll, up and down and harder and faster where she had previously needed to take them both at a slower pace. Steve grasps both her hips to pull himself out carefully again, worried that he would hurt her.

“ _No!_ ” she exclaims, reaching for him, but Bucky catches her hand with the one she’d soaked and brings it up over his neck.

“Hush, doll,” he grunts as she backs up onto him. “Steve, get back in there, look at her, look at how much she wants you to fuck her again.”

“Christ,” Steve hisses, taking himself in hand and sliding back into her slick heat, unable to resist either of them when they looked like that.

“Oh _god!”_ Darcy groans loudly.

“Yeah, that’s it, punk,” Bucky rumbles, his eyes bright and feverish. “Fuck our pretty girl right, fuck her tight little cunt and come inside her again.”

Darcy moans and agrees. “Yesyesyes, fuck me, Steve, help him fuck me. Come inside me again, I want to feel you come inside me again while he’s fucking me.”

He grins, feeling just as wild as they both look. “Make me,” he tells her.

Too late, he remembers that Darcy knows him just a little too well, and with an awkward gesture to get her hand down between them, she swirls her fingers over his perineum and makes his world go _white_.

It’s amazing what details you can forget while having fantastic, mind-blowing sex.

“Look at that,” he hears Bucky say from what seems like a distance. “Look what you did, sweetheart. God, he’s coming all over you.” And then Bucky laughs. “I think he passed out.”

“James,” he hears Darcy say a little distantly too, “James, Jamie, baby, fuck, I can’t— I can’t make it, I’m so close but I can’t make it, so close but I can’t make it —”

“Again?” Bucky asks, sounding surprised, and once he realizes what that means, Steve’s surprised too.

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses. “Yes, again, _please, yes!”_ she wails as he feels Bucky press his hands over her once more. “Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me, come inside me, _fuck!”_

Steve finally has the will to open his eyes, and he groans at the sight of them because _good Lord_ , they make such a handsome couple, such a beautiful pair, and he feels so damn _lucky_ to have them both. He bites his lip when he sees he’s painted his seed all over Darcy’s front, stripes of white streaking up her belly and breasts and shoulders, and even her hair. And under the mess he’d left, her face and chest are flushed red with exertion, and she looks absolutely wrecked, thoroughly debauched and unquestionably ravished. Bucky looks much the same, minus the streaks of come.

“You want me to come inside you?” Bucky growls, clearly pleased to hear it. “I thought you wanted me to come on your breasts tonight.”

“Inside me,” she nearly sobs. “Inside me, inside me, inside me, inside me.”

Steve groans at the dialogue, feeling himself twitch in interest _again_ , but he tells himself _no_ , because Darcy doesn’t look like she can keep going any further. Instead, he sits up and reaches between her thighs, pushing Bucky’s hand away to help them both out. “Go on, Buck,” he says, his voice slurring a little. “You heard the lady.”

Bucky swears under his breath and pulls out of her carefully, taking the condom off and dropping it on the towel he’d set side before guiding Darcy onto her back beside Steve and sinking into her again. “Okay?” he asks her as he starts moving against her.

“Yes,” she groans. “No, fuck, I feel empty, _god_.”

Bucky presses a smug smirk into her shoulder and picks up the bottle of lubricant, slathering a decent amount on his fingers before reaching down to pressing them into her ass again. Darcy cries out against his shoulder and raises her hips against him, and Bucky braces himself on his left hand and starts a quick, pointed pace that has Darcy writhing and moaning and yelling and screaming and gushing powerfully within seconds, taking Bucky along with her if his loud “ _Fuck!”_ is anything to go by (which it was).

He smiles as he watches them wind down, Bucky pulling his fingers out of her and sliding his hand up her thigh until he can move his hand under her and roll them over, letting Darcy lay on his chest as she slowly stops shaking and twitching. He scoots down beside them and presses kisses up her arm, pretty much in awe of her at the moment.

“Darcy,” he murmurs, “you okay, sweetheart?”

“God, yes,” she replies, grinning lazily up at him. “Oh my god, that was amazing.”

“You weren’t hurt?” he has to ask.

She shakes her head slightly. “Uh-uh. Was good. All good.” She smirks sleepily. “When can we do it again?”

Bucky starts laughing. “Give us a minute to catch our breath, sweetheart. We’re only super-soldiers, y’know.”

“Wimps,” she grins drowsily.

“He’s speaking for himself,” Steve tells her, leaning in to kiss her. “You were incredible. And perfect. Thank you for that.”

“You talk as if we’re never doing that again,” she murmurs lethargically. “We are, by the way.” She yawns. “After a nap.” She nuzzles her cheek against Bucky’s chest. “And you’re both gonna come inside me next time.”

Bucky scrunches his nose. “You say things like that and we don’t want you to go to sleep anymore.”

“Tough,” she replies, then drops off to sleep.

Steve smiles at her, then moves up to pull his soulmate into a heated kiss. “You were perfect too,” he tells a surprised-looking Bucky, who flushes.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” comes the discomfited reply.

Steve grins and plasters himself against Bucky’s side, closing his eyes and following Darcy’s example.

(And if he wakes up grimacing because of sticky sheets, well, they could always move things to the bathroom.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the [Edible Chocolate Body Butter Recipe](http://www.beegreenfoods.com/2011/02/edible-chocolate-body-butter-recipe/), for those who want it. I HAVE made it before, but never used it myself. The batch we (my cousin, the body butter-user) made turned out pretty good, so this is a pretty useful recipe to keep a hold of. *wink wink*


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is surprised to hear that Bucky wants to... well, y'know, while Bucky has angsty feels while having sex and also has a pretty significant realization, and Darcy finally gets a clue and a chance to get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is going back and forth and back and again, and he's gonna do that until next chapter, so just be patient with him =P So yeah, PORN WITH PLOT!
> 
> And omg, Darcy, FINALLY(!!!!), she's starting to put it together!!!
> 
> WARNINGS: Possible hints of depression in Bucky's POV, plus mentions of various mental health issues in Darcy's POV. If these issues are sensitive to you but still want to read on, just brace yourself, okay?

Three times.

That’s how many times they do it again.

Three. outstanding. times.

And he’s not talking about how many times they make each other come. He’s talking about how many times they do it throughout the course of the night. _With breaks_.

And just to be clear, Steve is _not_ — _definitely not_ —complaining. He’s just a little dazed at how _good_ it all was, at how _brilliant_ everything had been. Bucky had risen to the task wonderfully and Darcy had been so amazing and he couldn’t believe how insatiable they all have been in just _one night_.

What the hell was going to happen tonight? Tomorrow night? The rest of the nights they spend together?

Okay, no, Steve wouldn’t mind if he spent the rest of his days with Darcy between them, all right? But he’s worried, because what if the magic of it fades? What if they do this every night and the novelty fades and suddenly, it’s not as amazing as before?

He bites his lip and stares down at his lovers, feeling both buoyed at them being so damn entwined in their sleep and concerned about the… about the future of their sex life.

…okay, so it’s a little _ridiculous_ , but he’s serious about this. He doesn’t want them to run dry, so to speak, or be too repetitive with how they do things in here.

He doesn’t want them to become _boring_ , doesn’t want to risk either one of them getting _bored_ , not Darcy with him and Bucky or Bucky with him and Darcy. (He’s not worried about himself getting bored with them—it’s a scenario he feels has zero chances of actually occurring.)

So, should he—they—stop this kind of sex and go back to regular sex? Perhaps save _this_ for special occasions?

But dear God, it was _so good_ , how on earth were they going to _stop?_

He needs a plan. He needs a _battle_ plan, to combat this threat hanging ove—

“We should send her flowers.” Blinking, he looks over at Bucky, who has his eyes closed but is clearly awake, going by what he just said.

 _Who?_ he almost asks, but really, who else should they send flowers to? “Good idea,” he agrees.

“But she doesn’t do romantic,” Bucky adds. “So she probably won’t like flowers.”

Steve can’t help but smile. “Well, she seems to like chocolate too, so.”

Bucky smirks, finally looking at him. “Punk.”

“Jerk,” he replies, grinning back, and he leans over Darcy to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Good morning.”

“It is,” Bucky admits, glancing down at the woman in his arms, his eyes starting to darken with lust as he bites his lip. “Christ, Steve, how the fuck do we stop wanting her all the time?”

Steve blinks at him, because he’d just been pondering that same question, and yet hearing it spoken aloud somehow provides him with an answer.

“We don’t,” he says simply, smiling down at the oblivious brunette between them. “Just gotta be a little careful when we show it.”

His words don’t have the effect he expects, because instead of… well, a positive response, Bucky loses the ‘I’m going to wake her up for more sex’ look his expression had slowly been turning to and replaces it with his ‘we have to talk about something serious’ face.

“Steve,” Bucky says predictably. “We gotta talk.”

“What about?” he asks.

Bucky opens his mouth, but then doesn’t say anything. He frowns, lips pressing shut, then tries again. “I…” He purses his lips, looking annoyed, and Steve tries and fails not to find this speechlessness endearing. (And cute, but like hell is he going to give Bucky that ammunition.)

Steve, ever a helpful guy, lends him a helping hand. “Is it about Darcy?” he asks, grinning knowingly.

Bucky gives him a look. “Obviously, you little punk,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Look,” he tries once more. “I think we oughta…” He grimaces and visibly attempts to voice what he’s thinking. “…I don’t know,” he huffs irritably, “date her.”

Steve _blinks hard_. “I… _Really?”_ he asks, more than a little surprised. He shouldn’t be, really, because he knows this unmentioned attraction between them has been simmering for a while now, but somehow, he hadn’t expected Bucky to want to date her. Honestly, he assumed that their relationship would just evolve quietly, that they would just become so interlinked until Bucky couldn’t remember a time when Darcy hadn’t been in their lives, until he couldn’t imagine life without her in it the way Steve already can’t.

And it shames him, that assumption, because _of course_ Bucky would want to date her. _He_ did, after all, because outside of this room, they didn’t really know each other. And that’s been killing him. It’s been grating at him for months, since… well, since after he realized that Darcy was more than just a warm body he held close to him at night.

Thing is… “Bucky,” he says slowly, “she might not want us to do that.”

Bucky gives Darcy an exasperated look and touches his metal fingers to the loose fist she has lying on his chest. “I know,” he replies. “But I want us to.”

Steve can’t help but smile at that, warmth and happiness suffusing every inch of him. “I want us to too.” His soulmate smiles back, looking pleased to hear it, and that makes Steve’s mind up on the matter. “We’re gonna have to be sneaky about it though,” he realizes, watching her as he brushes his hand down her curls. “She might not take it well if we tell her outright.”

Bucky hums, his fingers absently drawing invisible lines over the back of her hand. “Fine. But no more of this distance shit either. I want…” He bites his lip, suddenly looking chagrined.

Steve leans over again presses his lips to Bucky’s. “Me too,” he agrees understandingly. “We’ll start small. For everything.”

“How small?” he’s asked.

“Well,” Steve smiles, “I did tell her I’d get you to cook her breakfast.”

Bucky represses a smile. “Lazy punk,” he says. “Getting me to do all the work.”

“Not _all_ the work,” he grins, sliding down the mattress so he can take Bucky in hand.

“This is how you’re getting me to cook her breakfast?” Bucky asks, amused.

Steve smirks and leans in. “Only if she wakes up,” he dares.

His soulmate grins back, sharp and clearly accepting the challenge. “Bring it, punk.”

(Bucky wakes her up.)

*

 _Bring it, punk_.

Jesus, he can be such an idiot sometimes, honestly, because what follows is the longest and most frustrating blowjob he’s ever received, made difficult by the requirement that he not wake Darcy up. He holds back every sound, every jerk of his hips, and even resorts to pulling on the Winter Soldier to control his reactions ( _It has been twenty-four point seven minutes since The Mission began his assault_ , his alter ego reports when he’s acknowledged), but it’s all for nothing, not once Steve presses and rubs the finger he’d slid through Darcy’s wet folds against his asshole while brushing his thumb over his perineum. With a defeated groan, he bucks up harshly, and the gesture is enough to wake Darcy.

And for that? Steve doesn’t get him off.

“Aw,” Darcy laughs sleepily as he swears at Steve heartily. “Poor,” she kisses his chest, “frustrated you.”

“Come here, sweetheart,” Steve says, pulling Darcy away and up into a kiss. “Mm, you smell good.”

She chuckles lowly against his lips. “You mean I smell like you and him,” she corrects drowsily, reminding him (them) of the lazy, half-asleep shower they’d taken just hours ago, where no ‘sexy-times’ (as Darcy described it) had occurred due to their utterly sex-worn conditions. (And now that he thinks about it, they had forgotten to give her her products again, damn it.)

“S’what I said,” he replies, hands smoothing over her hips and down to her ass cheeks, then dipping lower to her cunt. “Can I have you again, sweetheart? Lay you down on top of Bucky and make him watch your face while I wake you up and take you apart?”

He groans at that, cock throbbing almost painfully, but he doesn’t make the mistake of wrapping his fingers around himself to try and relieve the buildup. He hasn’t been on the receiving end of Steve’s versions of punishment before, but he knows from watching Steve punish Darcy that if he tries to fight against it, it'll just get worse. Had he been less frustrated, he might’ve dared, because Captain Rogers making an appearance in bed is always fun, but right now, all he wants to do is blow his load, preferably into Steve’s mouth, maybe Darcy’s.

Or Darcy’s pussy, or her ass, or Steve’s ass—right now, he ain’t that picky.

“It’s a free country,” she tells him, mirth in her voice.

“Darcy,” Steve says, soft and pointed at the same time.

“Yes,” she answers. “God, Steve, yes, always yes.”

Steve growls lightly at the permission and kisses her again, quick and dirty, before helping her lethargic body straddle his. Darcy smiles and mouths a sleepy “Hey” at him as her warm flesh brushes over his dick and her breasts press against his chest, and he succumbs to the urge to kiss her, moving his hands to her thighs and running them up her smooth, soft, sleep-warm skin.

“Let go of her,” Steve says firmly, and he groans as he obeys, dropping his hands onto the mattress. “She can touch you, but you can’t touch her.”

“Fuck, Steve,” he says against her lips.

“Yeah, Steve,” Darcy says too, her tone full of lazy amusement. “C’mon. Fuck.”

“Then get up,” Steve chuckles, low and deep, “let him see your face, sweetheart.” Darcy moans and shifts her hands to push herself up and off of him, making him abruptly miss the weight of her on his body. “And I think I ought to even the odds,” Steve muses as Darcy’s mouth drops open and her eyes squeeze shut—the same expression she makes every time Steve breaches her snug pussy. “Bucky can talk all he wants,” he says, leaning down to kiss her back, “but you need to keep all your words to yourself.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Darcy whimpers and opens her eyes, looking down at him in trepidation, and he can’t help but grin in delight, because that? Was _very_ fair.

“Yeah, Steve,” he repeats almost verbatim, right down to the tone full of amusement. “C’mon. Fuck her.”

Steve bucks forward, forcing a harsh breath out of Darcy as her hair bounces in time with her breasts, and he realizes Steve had just slammed home, something he rarely ever does to her. “God, you’re so wet,” Steve rumbles happily. “You’re always wet, every damn time I touch you. It’s like you’re always ready for us to take you.”

“She is, isn’t she?” he agrees, watching the expressions that flit on her face and feeling them building him even further up. Christ, he’s gonna do a Steve and come all over himself untouched if he’s not careful. Darcy does him a favor though, bending down to scrape her teeth over his nipple, and he hisses and starts egging her on as she launches an assault on him while Steve fucks into her, drawing moans and little grunts as the sounds of sex fills the room.

“Oh fuck, Steve, please, more,” she says suddenly, inhaling sharply as she jerks lower and angles her ass up, and to both their surprise, Steve gives her bottom five light smacks. “God!”

“Bucky,” is all Steve has to say for him to get the message, and he brings his right hand up to slap her left butt cheek, earning a sound that’s a mix of a groan and a grunt as she bites down on her bottom lip to keep from saying anything else. “Look at her, such a fast learner.”

“Fuck, now I _want_ you to talk to me,” he tells her, and she hiccups a laugh and peers at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Spank me again,” she says, and he grins and obliges her, matching the number of the smacks he gives her to the number of words she’d spoken, and she arches her back and surges forward to kiss him, making him fist his fingers into the sheets so that he won’t reach out while he kisses her back. “Two more,” she requests, and he delivers, and he discovers why she asked for them when she grunts “Fuck” against his mouth as she comes. She moves back just enough for him to see her face twisting in pleasure as she pushes against Steve, who he realizes had reached a hand down to keep her belly from touching his heavy, ignored dick.

When Darcy finally stops grinding her ass and cunt on Steve’s abdomen and cock, Steve pulls out of her and helps her up, then dips his fingers into her cunt, spreading her folds just enough to give him a view of her swollen bud. “Sweetheart,” Steve says, his other hand sliding up her belly to cup her left breast, fingers dragging over the once-bruised flesh. “Can you wrap your lips around him again for me, let him come on your face again?”

“Is that what you want?” she asks breathlessly, her hungry gaze meeting his own as her hands slide up to grip Steve’s wrist and hand.

“Only if you want it too,” Steve murmurs, his fingers coming together to trap and roll her clit, making Darcy choke on the breath she’s taking and tilt her hips forward, her head falling back on Steve’s chest. “But after I make you come again.”

“Yes,” she says, her voice a cross between a whine and a groan. “Yes, Steve, god, please—”

“Not too sensitive?” Steve asks, but his tone is mostly teasing, partly knowing, and completely _intent_. “I think I read something about women finding that touching this—” Darcy’s hips jerk back and forward when Steve gently tugs at her nub, “—was too much after an orgasm—”

“No,” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “No, keep touching me, don’t stop please, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

“Shit,” he hisses, digging his fingers into the bed sheets and not really caring if they rip under his hold, because the sight of _them_ is too entrancing to pay attention to anything else and he’s on the verge of coming just by watching the show Steve’s putting on for him.

“Look at Bucky, sweetheart,” Steve continues, and Darcy’s eyes open immediately, like she’s been compelled to obey every word out of Steve’s mouth. “Look at his face. You can tell he’s enjoying this, watching you fall to pieces, watching me _make you_ fall to pieces, knowing you’re going to do it to him too.”

“Steve, fuck,” she whimpers, her face scrunching as she claws at Steve’s arms and writhes against him, her whole body swaying and twisting, skin flushing red again. God, he thinks he can hear her heart beating faster too under the desperate babbling that starts to spill from her lips. “Steve, please, I’m so close again, don’t stop, I need to come, don’t stop, _don’t stop!”_

“ _God_ ,” he chokes out, immediately tugging at the Winter Soldier to keep himself from blowing, so much so that he nearly pulls his alter ego over himself completely, only barely managing to stop his other self from taking over. “Shit,” he hisses, his arousal receding at the near coup, and he finds himself sitting up, the sheets definitely ripped now, with his forehead pressed to Darcy’s belly, Steve’s arm right beside his left cheek.

“ _Fuck!”_ Darcy sobs, her fingers sinking through his hair as she comes, and he swallows and feels both astonished and guilty when his thoughts snap easily back to how much he wants to take her, to sink into her and have his turn to drive her to and over the edge, despite the fact that he’d just barely won a fight with the murderous persona inside his head. “Fuck, oh god, oh god, Steve, yesyes _yes!”_

 _She has no idea_ , he thinks. Neither of them have any idea how close the Winter Soldier— how close he’d _let_ the Winter Soldier come to them. God. _God_ , he was an idiot. He shouldn’t be relying on the Winter Soldier in the first place—not in this. He never should have and he never should again, not when his other self still referred to Steve as his ‘Mission’ and Darcy was ‘The Intruder’.

God’s not the only one knows what his alter ego will do to them if he ever takes control.

“Bucky?” Steve says, but there’s no concern in his voice, only a playful tone indicative of a teasing nature. “Did you come with her?”

He should tell Steve. _He should tell Steve_ , tell him how close he’d come to getting them killed, tell him to take Darcy out of the room, take her to safety—

 _But he’ll leave me_ , he thinks, his hands tightening around the ruined fabric of their bed sheets. And more than anything, he feared _that_ , feared being _left_ and _abandoned_ , feared being _alone_.

 _Again_.

“No,” he replies, instead of the “Leave. Get out of here, Steve, get her out of here” that he should let tumble off his tongue. “I didn’t.”

“Good,” Steve says, and it was both a blessing and a curse, absolution and condemnation. “He’s all yours, sweetheart.”

Darcy, who has no idea what the fuck almost happened and no clue as to what he’s thinking, moans and tugs at his hair, pulling him back from where he’s hiding his face against her stomach and bending down to slant her lips over his. He holds on tight to the sheets to keep himself from touching her, lets her take the lead and marvels when she moves her mouth down his body to take his half-hard dick into her hot mouth, groaning as her slick tongue puts pressure on the slit of his dick.

He watches her for all of two seconds, then feels Steve slide into the space to his right. Steve's hand cups his jaw and pulls him into a kiss before moving down over his collar to his left nipple, brushing then pinching and tweaking. It adds to the sensation of Darcy’s mouth gliding up and down half his cock and her hand smoothing up his thigh, projecting her goal clearly, and the mere _promise_ of its destination pushes his arousal to almost painful levels. He exhales harshly and doesn’t even think about it as he reaches for her neck when she finally touches his balls, his fingers raking through her hair, and Steve chuckles at his reaction and pulls away, moving down to lick at his other nipple before giving it a quick nip.

He grunts at the sharp sting and unthinkingly thrusts up hard, and he hears Darcy choke as her throat convulses around the head of his dick. “Sorry,” he blurts out, stopping immediately and lifting himself on his elbows to peer at her over Steve’s head. “Sorry, are you—? _Ngh_ ,” he grunts again, seeing and feeling her take him back in, right down to where he’d touched the back of her throat, and then feels her  _relax_  around him before taking him deeper. “Oh my god,” he moans, stunned at the sensations she was causing.

“Come on, Buck, she can take it,” Steve tells him, kissing back up his chest and latching onto the spot under his ear that makes goose bumps spread across his skin. “You know she can take it, you’ve seen her take me, haven’t you? Haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he hisses as she pulls back to suck at his head, her tongue pressing and wriggling against his frenulum.

“Gotta trust our girl, Buck,” Steve murmurs, dragging his teeth over a collarbone. “She wouldn’t let you in if she didn’t trust you not to hurt her.”

He has to swallow at that statement and can’t help but think,  _Fuck, Steve, you have no idea what you’re talking about_ , as he remembers just how their first real meeting went.

Just to the side of Steve’s hair, he can see Darcy, see that she has her eyes closed, her lips around his tip, her tongue against his slit, a hand on his balls and the other pumping his shaft. Her body sits between his legs, her back slightly hunched over so she can take him in her mouth, one leg spread over his knee while the other was bent and tucked under her belly. She looks nothing like the scared girl he had pressed against her bathroom door, nothing like the young woman he had slapped to snap her out of a panic attack, but he knows—he  _knows_ —that that girl, that young woman, is still in there somewhere, that she’ll never forget and would never forgive and despite what Steve thinks, she’ll never trust him not to hurt her.

“C’mon, jerk,” Steve says, nuzzling into his jaw, “show our girl a good time.”

Talk about being trapped between a rock and a hard place.

Darcy pulls off him wetly and grins. “My mouth too much for you, Barnes?” she asks cheekily, eyes bright.

He swallows. “How’sabout you show me a good time instead, sweetheart.”

Darcy smirks. “Yeah?” she asks, stroking his dick before leaning in to press a kiss to his tip. “What did you have in mind?” she asks before swirling her tongue around him.

 _Focus_ , he tells himself as he tugs carefully at her, guiding her up his body with the hand he still has in her hair, his other sliding down her ass once it’s within reach. He puts his mouth to her throat and sucks at the sweet spot under her jaw, smugly taking in the moan and the sudden pliability her body gains, making it easy for him to lift her over his lap, affix her knees so that they’re pressed against his sides. “Steve,” he murmurs against her skin, groaning in pleasure and contentment as he smells his and Steve’s soap on her, the scent of their shampoo emanating from her hair. It isn’t that delicious chocolate anymore, but damn if he’ll complain when she smells like _them_ , “let her take your dick in her mouth.”

Steve tisks. “Not what I had in mind,” he complains as he moves up the bed.

“Me neither,” Darcy lets him know.

Luckily, he’s picked up enough to know what she  _really_  likes. “I want you to fuck yourself with my dick,” he tells her. “Make me come inside you.”

Just as he predicted, she shudders and moans. “Fuck,” she breathes. “You gonna let me do that now, Barnes? Fuck you ‘til you come?”

“You gonna do it?” he asks, injecting a hint of challenge in his tone. She hums and rises to angle herself, then sinks down on him, her tight pussy bearing down as she clenches around him. He groans at the feel of her and bends his head to nip at her breast. “Take Steve, sweetheart,” he says. “C’mon. Just like before. Fuck your cunt on my dick while you take his cock in your mouth, hm? Make us blow our load inside you, c’mon, doll.” He cringes at the slip, chastising himself again, and he sucks at her nipple in quiet apology.

“On my face,” she says, and both he and Steve moan at the obvious order.

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve replies, and she takes him into her mouth, sucking.

And then she starts to move.

He lifts his hands up, his right fondling her left breast while he sucks on her right nipple, and his left drags across and over her skin, touching everywhere he can reach. Steve clearly has his hands on the headboard, the wood groaning as he tightens and eases his grip on it. All the while, Darcy keeps going, fucking herself on their dicks, moaning and slurping as her ass and thighs slap against his flesh, her curls bouncing and her breasts almost doing the same had he not been holding them.

He wonders briefly where she even gets the energy, because they’ve been fucking her all night and she’s still going. He and Steve are enhanced, so that explains _their_ fast recovery rate, but unless Darcy’s had an upgrade herself—which he knows hasn’t happened, not even with her history with HYDRA—then it was slightly odd that she can keep up with their enthusiasm for sex at all. But the thought is swept away quickly, and discarded when she eventually slows down, going breathless with her efforts.

He and Steve have both been aroused for a while now, so it doesn’t take them long to finish. It does, however, take long enough that Darcy’s energy starts to flag, and she hasn’t come on him even once. Because he asked her to show them a good time, he realizes, and hadn’t asked her to come too. Maybe she thinks the orgasms she’d gotten from Steve were enough, but—

 _That’s not right_ , he thinks, and moves his right hand down to press against her folds and rub. Her squeals of surprise sets Steve off, his soulmate swearing as she pulls off of him and gets him to spray his spunk all over her face, and the sight gets _him_ off. He comes inside her, groaning with no small relief as he blows his load deep within her cunt, and if he’s not mistaken, his release triggers her own, her pussy clamping down like it’s sucking for every drop he had.

But it was slightly off, this coupling of theirs, and he knows it’s his fault. He’d asked Darcy to do all the work, and he doesn’t feel like she’s as satisfied as she should be. Perhaps it’s because she only had the one orgasm to match theirs. Perhaps it’s because he’d been trying, again, to revert back to his old thinking, to make himself see her as _that_ again, or maybe even to try and set her free of his affection.

Because never mind the similarities between them, never mind the understanding, never mind the attraction.

Nothing good can come from him wanting her like this.

“Good?” she asks, placing a kiss on the head of Steve’s dick. [And to his selfish relief, he notes that she doesn’t smear Steve’s still leaking tip over her lips like she did for him.]

“Fuck, Darcy, you know it was,” Steve gasps, still panting.

She hums and turns her head to him, eyes closed because of the stains on them. “And y _mph!”_

He licks and sucks at the come on her lips before deepening the kiss, ignoring how Steve’s spunk smudges on his nose and his cheek as he tastes Steve and the lingering mint of their toothpaste on her tongue. He rolls them over so that he’s on top and lifts her knees while grinding the base of his dick into her clit, drawing stuttering gasps from her as he fucks her with his softening cock. And when he’s too soft to give her anymore friction, he pulls out and slides his fingers in and pounds them against the rough patch inside her, and she moves her lips away to yell at the sudden assault on her cunt.

He grins as Steve swears and joins them, and he moves down to her breast so that Steve can kiss her, muffling her sounds as he takes her other breast in hand and pinches and tweaks and flicks, the two of them working to get her off again in seconds.

Suddenly, the air is charged and lively, Darcy’s body flailing as she comes with a heavy rush on his fingers, her pleas for them to ease up muffled against Steve’s lips.

“Just one more, sweetheart,” he tells her, not stopping, and Steve swallows her screams as her body clamps down again, gushing powerfully on the sheets and his hand and arm and belly and thighs. He puts his palm over her mound, not moving, just keeping a constant pressure that he knows will help her calm down, and she eventually relaxes, the shaking of her body fading.

“What,” she pants once Steve had moved his lips to her forehead, then pulled back to stroke her hair comfortingly, “what was that for?”

He kisses her breast before leaning up to kiss her languidly. “S’only fair,” he tells her, now moving his soaked hand up her body, leaving a wet trail over her belly and cleavage and neck. “Did so well, fucking us both.”

“He means thank you,” Steve corrects, rolling his eyes at him.

“That’s what I said,” he grins, hiding the feeling of failure that shoots through him.

 _Thank you_. Simple words, but somehow difficult to say.

 _Why_ can’t he just _say them?_

“Thank me by handing me a wash towel,” she laughs, wiping come off her face before sticking her fingers into her mouth.

“Darcy!” Steve says, sounding strangled, and even he can’t help but be entranced [and jealously wonder if she had done the same with his come].

“Wash towel,” she repeats, and he pauses just as he’s about to roll up and off her.

“Better idea,” he says, and she squeaks in surprise as he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the bathroom once again.

“Mm, shower sex?” she grins as he turns the shower on.

He laughs, marveling once more at her insatiable zeal for sex. “Later,” he tells her, grinning at Steve when he joins them, holding the bag that held the body wash and conditioner they bought for her the other morning. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

(Minutes later, as he gently wipes a washcloth over her cheek to clean her face of Steve’s come, he realizes there’s a hundred ways he can thank her for when the words wouldn't come to him, and vows to show her how thankful he is for everything she does whenever he can.)

*

They bought her conditioner and soap.

They bought her  _conditioner and soap_.

They  _bought_  her  _conditioner_  and  _soap_.

They bought  _her_  conditioner and soap.

They bought her conditioner and soap and placed it on the ledge next to their shampoo and their soap and…

And she had a toothbrush there. _A toothbrush_. That she hadn’t even remembered using until _just right now_.

She had  _things_  in their room now. Well, okay, their  _bath_ room, but still! Still! It was enough to make her  _freak out_.

She had  _things_  in their room, holy shit, holy  _shit_.

What did it  _mean?_  Was she overthinking this? Because she was pretty sure that even four months of sexing did  _not_  a relationship make, and yet  _she had things in their (bath)room!!!_

This was crazy.

This  _whole thing_  was crazy.

Oh god. First, it was Barnes inviting her to have a threesome with him and Steve (his soulmate). Then it was Barnes getting under her skin and fucking her. Then it was Barnes fucking her ass and kissing her. Then it was Barnes inviting her to stay in their bed. Then it was Barnes—

Hang on. She’s starting to see a pattern here.

Absently twisting to and fro in her seat and fiddling with her pen, Darcy contemplates the things Barnes has done recently that  _did not mesh up_  to the time before.

Having sex with her? Check.

Talking dirty? Check.

Slapping her ass? …not check?

Darcy frowns, remembering that the last time he’d done so was when she promised she’d come from him just slapping her [which was easy since, y’know, butt plug + Steve’s fingers, giving just enough to bear down on and stimulate herself with, okay wow, moving on], which was the same night he first puckered his lips and touched them to hers [okay, that’s not how it happened, it was more like he _yanked_  her to him, but whatever, moving on]. And then never again (the slapping of her ass, not the kissing), at least not without Steve instigating the ass slapping.

Calling her doll? Check. [But also, not check, because he’s been calling her  _other things_  recently, things that she refuses to linger on but can’t help but wonder about anyway because she’s pretty sure that when he calls her ‘doll’, he’s calling her a blowup doll, even though he doesn’t treat her like that. Or maybe not blowup doll, but something meant to be equally degrading?]

[Because she’s pretty sure he] thinks of her as a whore? …

[And that he] hates her guts [even though he has sex with her more often than he has sex with Steve]? …

“Oh my god,” she bemoans internally, stopping the clicking of her pen so she can fold her arms on her table and bury her face in them. “Why are guys so fucking complicated?”

“What do you mean?” she hears Jane ask, and after a quick review, Darcy realizes that the words hadn’t been as internally moaned as she thought they’d been. “…trouble with your boyfriend?” Jane adds after a few moments.

She groans again, because before the little _incident_ last Sunday, Jane has taken every available opportunity to nag her about her ‘secret abusive boyfriend’ and dropping not-so-subtle hints for her to breakup with him. And okay, Jane was non-invasive yesterday, but Darcy isn’t naïve enough to think that Jane has given up. She’s regrouping, Darcy knows, readying herself for another ‘encounter’ or something, and Darcy’s been bracing herself for the next round of confrontations since she left Steve and Barnes’s room yesterday morning.

Okay, don’t get her wrong. She loves Jane. She knows Jane’s only trying to look out for her. She knows Jane only wants the best for her. And she thinks that if they’d switched roles, she’d be just as persistent and persevering in her pestering as Jane has been.

But the difference between her and Jane is that she knows Jane is smart, and would always be smart, in _everything_ she does. Jane, though… Darcy hadn’t been lying when she told Jane how she felt, how Jane treats her like she’s an incompetent idiot who’s refusing to attend her therapy sessions because she refuses to believe that she developed mental health issues after a traumatizing experience in the hands of a terrorist organization.

Which is only half true, because a) not an incompetent idiot, as attested by the memory and IQ test she took under Bruce’s supervision shortly after they ‘cured’ her, and b) she’s not skipping out on her therapy sessions because she’s denying that she has mental health issues.

She’s not dumb, okay? She’s knows she’s got at least half a basket of cats in her head, because of the panic attacks and nightmares and mood swings and paranoia and some PTSD and other issues that will never let her forget it, and she  _knows_  she’s different now compared to herself pre-you-know-what, and she  _knows_  she needs to talk to someone about these things.

But she’s not ready yet—to talk and share and let the cats out, especially not to some ‘professional’ who wouldn’t be able to relate anyway, who would look at her with that fake understanding gaze and ask her  _how do you feel about that_  and talk to her like she’s… well, like she’s just part of the job. She doesn’t want  _that_. She doesn’t…

She doesn’t want to be  _alone_.

Steve had been the closest she’d come to talking about it, y’know, pre-Barnes coming back into his life. Bruce was another too, but only after he caught her in the medical floor and only when she realized she had no one else she can turn to that won’t judge her. And even then, she’d only turned to him so that she could be sure that _It_ wouldn’t—hadn’t—come back.

“Darcy?” Jane goes, and she hears the other woman approach and tenses up, hating that Jane _still_ can’t get that sometimes, all she wanted was to be left to her thoughts, that not every outburst needed to be listened to and treated like progress.

It’s not progress, okay? Some things just need to be said aloud without a big deal being made of them.

“Darcy, come on, talk to me.”

That. That was exactly why she had come to resent Jane.

Stifling a cry of frustration, she rises to her feet and picks up her jacket, checking that she had her cellphone and taser before slipping on her panic bracelet. “I’m going out for coffee.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jane offers. “I think we n—”

“No, I got it,” she replies curtly, already heading out the door, and she steps into the private elevator reserved for the tower’s residents, not caring that it was still heading up because she was more focused on avoiding Jane.

She doesn’t expect the car to bring her to Steve and Barnes’s floor, nor for Barnes to step into the elevator when it opens. The fact that her lady parts perk up in attention at the sight of him means nothing, or at least only means that they remember how good he can be to them.

“Darcy,” he says, and she can’t help but notice that  _that_  was another thing that had changed. What happened to being called  _Lewis?_  What happened to that? “Goin’ somew—?”

“Why do you call me that?” she asks, unable to stop, because she’s suddenly gripped with the belief that if he can answer her that one question, then maybe she can solve the mystery of… well, of  _him_. Of this bizarre change he’s going through.

To his credit, Barnes doesn’t pretend to not know what she’s talking about. “It’s your name,” he replies evenly. “Would you prefer I stop usin’ it?”

“No,” she says before she can think about it. “Darcy’s fine.”

He gives her an inscrutably look, and then, not for the first time, surprises her. “You can call me James, if you like.”

She flushes, because  _crap_ , how can she possibly turn that down without offending him? “I— okay. James,” she says, and feels her blush go darker as she remembers the many instances where she’d slipped up and called him that, most of them occurring while he was attached to her body.

Barnes, the little bastard, smirks at her knowingly.

“So where are you goin’?” he asks, leaning back into the wall, his hands spread on the rails. The lazy hot guy position, combined with the black boots/blue jeans/henley/leather jacket combo he’s rocking, gives him a long, deliciou—

 _Shut up brain_ , she thinks as she looks down and tugs at the hem of her left sleeve. “Just out,” she answers. “Needed to get away from Jane for a bit.”

“She bein’ all mother hen again?”

As if to answer his question, the elevator stops on the lab floor, opening to admit Jane. “Oh, good, you’re still here!” she says brightly, stepping on.

Darcy curls her toes in her shoes and wraps her fingers around the railing to keep from strangling Jane.

“Foster,” Barnes nods at her.

“Barnes,” she nods back.

“You gonna join us?”

Both she and Jane blink in confusion. “Huh?” Jane asks for her oh so thoughtfully.

“I was just invitin’ Darcy here to go for a walk with me,” Barnes says. “She’s been cooped up in here long enough, wouldn’t you say?” He gives Jane a faux-subtle look that Darcy totally catches, and she shoots him a much more subtle confused look as realization flashes across Jane’s face.

“Oh!” Jane says, unable to contain her delight. “Oh, yeah, totally! I totally agree.”

Barnes smiles at her, then turns that smile on Darcy and  _wowfuckholyohmygodhottie_. “See, Darcy?” he tells her. “Foster here agrees with me. Whaddaya say, sweetheart? Come take a walk around the park with me, just the two of us.”

… _ohhhhh_.

“I—”

“You totally should, Darcy,” Jane interrupts with a wide grin. “I have  _tons_  of stuff to do, so this whole going out thing, it’s not for me. _But_ , since Barnes here,” she reaches out (very bravely) to pat Barnes on the shoulder (the  _left_  shoulder) and tells her, “is going out anyway, why not take a walk with him? Get to know him a little, hm?”

Darcy shakes her head a little, because Jane couldn’t have  _seriously_  just said that. The irony of  _that_  was a little too much.

“I think that’s a—”

“Great idea! She says yes!” Jane tells Barnes loudly, and seemingly forgets that the whole elevator was so polished you can see your pores from a distance, because she tucks her hands against her belly and gives him two thumbs up.

Barnes doesn’t look impressed. “I don’t think she has yet,” he tells Jane. “I think the lady can answer for herself.” Jane rears back, looking affronted and chastised at the same time, and okay, Darcy’s suddenly  _so_  on board with this plan.

“The lady says yes,” Darcy nods, and the dry look he gave Jane evaporates (heh) into that  _wowfuckholyohmygodhottie_  smile of his. She’s gonna trademark that name, slap it on that smile and then have it patented, jeezus fuck.

“Really? I mean, great!” Jane smiles, not as hyper as before, but the relief in it is palpable. “That’s great!” She eyes Barnes and gives him a once over, but whatever she’s evaluating him for, he clearly passes muster. “You gonna take care of my best girl, Barnes?”

…okay, maybe Jane deserves a  _little_  forgiveness, because that’s the sweetest thing Darcy’s heard Jane say about her in the past ten-plus months.

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnes replies, tipping his head like he’s got a hat on and just oozing that 40’s charm only he and Steve can pull off (for obvious reasons). Jane squeaks and flushes, and Darcy forgives her a little more, because shit, that was funny.

“Oh, look, we’re here!” Jane spits out  _three full seconds_  before the elevator car arrives at the lobby. “Well, you kids have fun at the park. Have ice cream. Have a sandwich. Have hotdogs,” she rambles, and then practically shoves them both out the car once the doors were open. Darcy would be impressed with her manhandling Barnes if she wasn’t busy laughing at her friend-slash-boss. “Darcy, have the rest of the day off and feel better! And shut up!” Jane says, waving with one hand while the other makes jabbing motions at the control panel, making her look like a red-faced lunatic about to have her first elevator ride.

The sight only has Darcy snorting as she laughs.

“That was… odd,” Barnes says once Jane’s gone.

“That was Jane,” she grins, her mirth tapering off. “And thanks. For the save.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it?” he says. “Save damsels in distress from the draconic astrophysicist dogging their every move? Feed them ice cream and sandwiches and hotdogs?”

“You already feed—” Darcy  _shuts her mouth_ , horrified at the near-faux pas.

Barnes, the little bastard, smirks at her knowingly again as he offers her his elbow. “Well?” he says when she gives his arm a wary glance. “I did promise to take care of Foster’s best girl, didn’t I?”

“You don’t have to,” she tells him, a little thrown by how seriously he seems to take Jane’s ‘request’. “I was just gonna go for some coffee.”

“Then let’s go for coffee,” Barnes says, which throws her just a little more.

“Seriously?” she asks, because  _what the fuck is going on with him?_

Wait a minute.  _Duh, Lewis, you can be kind of an idiot sometimes_ , she tells herself.

 _But wait_ , she thinks again, because he might not appreciate a surprise interrogation.

“Yeah,” Barnes says, and she purses her lips.

“I’m not the type to just walk and sit around quietly when I’m with someone,” she warns him. That was fair enough warning right? Because if she mentions her intentions to grill him outright, he might just bolt on her.

He shrugs. “I know.”

She nods and hooks her arm around his, suppressing the little thrill that shoots down her spine and reminding herself that this is, by far, the most innocent gesture they’ve ever shared. “So long as you’ve been warned.”

Barnes smirks again. “You have no idea,” he says, and, after pulling on the baseball cap and flesh-toned glove he had tucked in his back pocket over his head and left hand, starts to lead her to her doom.

Er, outside.

( _Oh dear god, save her from this day, save her from this unholy hot guy because oh my god that baseball cap is just cherry on a pretty sundae and jeezus fuck why is he so goddamn hot,_ ** _unf_** _.)_


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost everything finally comes to a head. Darcy somewhat figures things out on her end, Steve gives Jane a pretty heavy piece of his mind, and Bucky finally unloads himself on Darcy (emotionally, I mean emotionally, damn it!).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a sex chapter. Le gasp!
> 
> But seriously, this is all plot and feels.

_It's a date_.

The thought occurs to her just as she slides into a recently vacated booth in the café she frequents, his right arm settling over the backrest when he follows her in.

 _It's a date_ , she thinks, because Barnes has kept her at his side and acted like a gentleman all the way to the café, glaring at the two assholes who stared at her breasts when they passed them on the street and then paying for her drink at the register. And now this, sitting beside her in a four-seater booth, close enough that the outsides of their thighs and legs are touching, his fingers sliding over the almost-completely faded bite mark covered by her shirt.

The thought (and okay, maybe the touching too) has her biting her lip for several long moments, contemplating whether she should ask or disregard it, because there was no way that she's on a date with _Barnes_ , because Barnes ha—

“I thought you weren’t the quiet sort,” Barnes prods her suddenly, making her jump and nearly slosh her coffee all over herself. Or, y’know, it would’ve if her cup didn’t have a lid.

Darcy bites her bottom lip again, and chickens out. “I was just taking in the scenery,” she lies.

Barnes snorts. “Try again, sweetheart.”

She purses her lips. “Okay, fine,” she says, suddenly fired up. “Why do you call me that?”

He carefully looks away from her face, sliding his gaze to the café-goers around them. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I don’t know yet,” she says honestly, hoping it would serve as a model for him to follow. “I need you to tell me why first.”

Barnes purses his lips too, then lifts his drink up to his lips to stall. Darcy never used to be good at the waiting game, always one for instant gratification, especially before the you-know-what.

But Steve… Steve had taught her _patience_.

Finally, after several silent minutes, Barnes smirks, the quirk of his lips laced slightly with what she thinks is bitterness. “I don’t hate you anymore.”

Darcy blinks and digests that, because okay, that answers one question, but not the question she actually _asked_ him. “That doesn’t answer my question,” she points out, unable to phrase it a gentler way and not entirely sure she wanted to anyway [because this was BIG NEWS. This was _headline-worthy_. _MAN STOPS HATING SOULMATE’S WOMAN!_ And right below that would be the words _HELL FREEZES OVER!]_.

Barnes turns to face her, and she feels his hand trail over her shoulder, fingers brushing at the spot where his teeth are imprinted, and repeats, “I don’t hate you anymore,” while giving her a careful, but pretty damn telling expression from under his baseball cap.

“Holy shit,” she thinks, feeling her eyes widen as the message gets through to her. “Oh fuck, seriously? That’s…” Her thoughts scramble and scatter, going a hundred miles in many different directions, all of them babbling madly about why and how and since when and—

“For a while now,” Barnes tells her, and with a mortified squeak, she realizes she’d been thinking with her voice again. “I’m… I’m still not sure why or how. I… I’m still sorting through that.”

Darcy bites her lip hard as she wonders which question she can possibly ask next, because there were so many clamoring for attention in her brain.

“Don’t do that,” he says, his gloved hand moving up to brush over her lips, and she squeaks and releases her lip. And is promptly confused even further when an influx of desire swirls through her at his touch. “What is it?” he asks quietly, the rubbery finger brushing over her chin as he tilts her head up to make eye contact with her. “What’re you thinking right now, sweetheart?”

But the moment their eyes meet, all the noise goes mute, and she can’t remember a single question she wants to ask.

“I don’t know what to think,” she admits, unable to tears her gaze off his. “I can’t… I can’t tell what I…”

Barnes licks his lips, and her eyes drop briefly to them before flitting back up to his—

She moans, her eyes falling shut as he moves lips over hers, that electric sensation sizzling from where they touched and jolting through her veins and firing up all the bits of her that know just how good that mouth can be to them. He hums back, the vibrations adding to the flood of pleasure already coursing through her, and she can’t help but push back, can’t help but respond, can’t help but reach up and slide her fingers through his hair while angling her head so she can sweep her tongue over his lips and coax them open. He parts them for her, his right hand smoothing a path down her arm while his left brushes over her right breast, right over her nipple, and she flicks her tongue over hi—

“Ahem!”

Barnes abruptly goes still and tense, the sudden stop such a huge contrast to the way he had been moving languidly beside her, and it takes her a moment to remember that this guy, who was currently attached to her mouth, could’ve killed whoever had dared to interrupt them.

“Please keep your displays of affection contained,” some unfamiliar voice tells them. “This is a _public_ place.”

Darcy should be more upset that Barnes just kissed her, out here for everyone to see, out here where their friends might see and realize who had been leaving bruises on her body, never mind that she was letting them leave the marks in the first place. But instead, she’s upset for another reason entirely.

She was upset because with that kiss, she realized she’d broken her own rule and let her heart open up to him.

And that she’d done it _a long time ago_.

“Oh god,” she murmurs against his lips, unable to move, some irrational part of her hysterically comparing him to a T-Rex and thinking that maybe, if she doesn’t move, then he can’t find her, and if he can’t find her, then he can’t devour her whole in one bite.

And then, right before he pulls away from her, he does the most illogical thing in the world: he pecks her, a brief pressure of his lips on hers that still somehow jars her entire being.

“Pick up your coffee,” he tells her, and between that moment and the next, they’ve somehow entered the elevator and were heading up to… somewhere. She can’t remember how they got there, not a single detail stands out, and she’s pretty sure it’s because he’s staring at her from under that cap with that intense, unreadable look in his eye.

She’s pretty sure she knows what’s coming too, and can’t decide whether she wants it or if she should stop it, right here and now.

The elevator door dings open.

 _Crap_ , she thinks as he takes her hand and guides her out of the car.

Her room, she realizes, blood pumping loudly in her ears as she recognizes the door they approach and stop in front of. They’re going to her room. Not his and Steve’s, but _her_ room, and he’s pulling her closer and pressing his lips to her skin—

But it’s not the kiss she thought he’d give.

He pulls away, his right hand dragging from her elbow down to the tips of their fingers until they’re separated by air, and when she opens her eyes (when did she even close them?), he’s standing an arm’s span away, watching her with that guarded look.

“Get in, sweetheart,” he says, and the pet name has her gut clenching as she remembers every instance he ever said it to her. “Go in and get some rest, okay?”

“I—” _don’t understand_ , she wants to say. Wasn’t he going to come inside? Wasn’t he going to kiss her again? Touch her again? Finish what they started in that café that she might never return to, because she’s pretty sure that if someone had to comment to stop them from going further, then whatever had happened must’ve been pretty damn racy to get them… kicked out? Were they kicked out? Had they been kicked out? Oh god, were they _banned?_ Was she no longer allowed to get her coffee from there? And where the hell did her coffee go? She can vaguely remember picking it up.

“Darcy.” She refocuses on him, the manic rambling within her safely contained, if the way she’s biting her lip is any indication. “Stop that.”

She releases her lip immediately, remembering what had happened earlier and… and what? Was she hoping for or trying to avoid a repeat performance?

She refocuses again as his lips curl up—small and a little off-balance, one side higher than the other, his chin dimpling at the gesture—into the saddest but most genuine smile she’s ever seen on him. “S’okay,” he tells her. “Whatever you want. You take as much time as you need.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut or a blow to the head. Maybe even both at the same time.

Because _no one’s ever said that to her before_.

No one…

…except him.

It’s always been _Talk to me, Darcy_ , or _This isn’t healthy, Darcy, you need to talk to someone_ , or  _You need to go see your therapist, Darcy_ , or some other versions of those three. It’s always been patronization. It’s always been ignorance. It’s always been misinterpretation.

It’s never been this. It’s never been _comprehension_. It’s never been _understanding_.

For the first time since _then_ , Darcy finally feels _connected_.

And it was to _him_.

Oh, the fucking irony of it all.

“Darcy.” She snaps back to the present, her eyes focusing on him once more. He looks at her… he looks at her like he knows what she’s thinking. “Go.”

It takes her a few moments to obey, part of her wanting to ask him to stay, another needing him to walk away. But she doesn’t, and he doesn’t, and right now, the ball is in her court.

She still isn’t ready to talk—to talk and share and let the cats out.

But she also still doesn’t want to be _alone_.

So she holds her hand out to him. “Stay with me?”

His face doesn’t twitch, but suddenly, he looks lighter, younger, like the words have taken a load off his back.

He raises his hand and takes hers in his. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

(And he does.)

*

When Jane calls them all together again, Steve finds that he has to brace himself before going. These little kitchen meetings of hers were tedious and unnecessary and invasive, and it was a wonder that Bucky could stand it without snapping. Because Steve can see that the comments against them—against both of them and against Darcy, no matter that the others didn’t know it was the two of them they spoke of—affected Bucky more than he liked to show or admit. He’s tried to get Bucky not to come to the meetings more than once, but Bucky refuses every time, perhaps for the same reason Natasha (and Clint?) attend: to defend him from Jane and Thor in case they’d managed to learn the truth and persecuted him for it.

He’s grateful for the support— _he is_ —but not if it’s at the expense of Bucky’s recovery. He’s in a better place now than he was before Darcy joined them, and he doesn’t want  _this_  to set him back, to set him off.

Except today, Bucky doesn’t arrive, though Jane apparently knows and explains why.

“Great news!” she says, beaming at everyone when they were all finally present, Steve being the last one to enter. “I think I found a way to get rid of ‘The Boyfriend’.”

“You know who he is?” Thor perks up, having been itching to give ‘The Boyfriend’ a stern talking to (or a beating. Probably a beating) since they first saw the bruises on Darcy’s hips over ten months ago.

“No,” Jane replies, and Steve relaxes, “ _but_ , I  _think_  I know someone who could maybe probably  _definitely_  be a much better boyfriend for Darcy.”

 _Aaand_  Steve tenses up again. “Who?” he asks, hoping his distaste doesn’t show in his voice. Was Jane really trying to set Darcy up with someone? God, if she was, Steve was very much ready to give _her_ a stern talking to. She was lucky Bucky wasn’t here; dear God, that would’ve turned this whole thing into a great big mess.

Jane grins at him. “Barnes!”

Her announcement is followed by what seems to be a short comedy of errors. Clint, who had been drinking absently from his own Hawkeye mug, spews coffee all over Tony, who was sitting across him and therefore catches most of the coffee in his mouth, which had dropped open. Spluttering and coughing, Tony jerks up and knocks heavily into Steve, who was so poleaxed by the announcement that he can’t catch himself in time, falling against Bruce, who was in the process of laughing and thus couldn’t keep himself from falling to the floor. The only people that seem to have been left untouched by the carnage are Jane, Thor and Natasha.

“What?” Jane asks, and this seems to be all that was needed to set Natasha off, the redhead slapping her hands over her mouth as giggles escaped her throat and shook her shoulders. “ _What?”_  Jane asks again, looking indignant this time.

“My love,” Thor says as Steve, still more than a little astonished, helps a still-chuckling Bruce up off the ground, “James cannot apply himself as a suitor for our Lady Darcy, for he is already matched with our friend Steven.”

“What?” Jane squeaks, flushing red. “Seriously? But I thought you said they were just shield-brothers!”

“Indeed, they are shield-brothers,” Thor nods. “But I also told you of their great story, did I not? The destiny that spanned nearly a hundred years.”

Jane scrunches her face and smacks her forehead. “I thought you meant their  _friendship_ , oh  _god_ , I’m an  _idiot_.”

“Hardly, my beloved,” Thor says supportively. “I confess, you were quite busy at the time I told their tale. Your mind must have been divided between your task and my regaling of their life story is all.”

“Ugh. Steve, god, I’m so sorry,” Jane apologizes, giving him an earnest look. “I swear, I would never have done it if I knew about you and Barnes.”

Steve’s stupefied mind somehow latches onto that immediately. “Done  _what?”_  he asks.

Jane winces. “Encouraged them to go to the park on a date?”

Natasha, who had been winding down already, starts laughing again, her chair tipping back enough that Steve briefly thinks she was about to fall. Clint was right there with her, braying into his right arm while slapping his left fist onto the countertop. Bruce starts sniggering once more and buries his head in his hands, shaking his head.

Tony, who had been washing his mouth and face in the sink, finishes up just in time to hear that and snort. “Fuck, that’s hilarious,” he says. “JARVIS, get us some footage of that. For posterity. Wait, what park did they go to?”

“They didn’t, sir,” JARVIS replies. “Sergeant Barnes and Miss Lewis proceeded to Miss Lewis’s preferred café around the corner.”

“A coffee date!” Jane squeaks, giving Steve a half-wary, half-apologetic look. “I mean, coffee. No big. They’re friends, right? Just friends having coffee together,” she rambles, and Steve only half-hears her because he’s busy trying to will away his glee and jealousy.

Their first date. Bucky and Darcy’s first date. And he wasn’t _there_.

Ugh, why was life so _unfair?_

“Are they still there?” Tony asks. “Looks like Cap’s about ready to go join that ‘date’.”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” JARVIS says. “Sergeant Barnes and Miss Lewis returned to the tower approximately four minutes and seventeen seconds ago.”

Tony frowns and looks up at the camera tucked in the corner. “And?” he prompts JARVIS, and Steve realizes that the A.I. was being evasive for a reason.

“They are currently outside Miss Lewis’s room, sir,” JARVIS is obliged to report.

 _Oh shit_ , he has time to think before Tony’s eyes squint suspiciously. “ _Outside_  her room, you say? _”_  he repeats. “What are they doing outside her room?”

“Whoa,” Steve holds his hands up. “Look,  _maybe_  he’s just being a gentleman and walking a lady to her door.”

“JARVIS, video,” Tony says anyway, and Steve winces as even the laughing threesome stop giggling to look up and watch the show.

He grimaces when the video appears on the glass display that doubled as a wide mirror along the wall where the sink was, because it opens just as Darcy holds her hand up. “ _Stay with me?”_  she asks, and Bucky puts his hand in hers.

“ _Okay. I’ll stay_ ,” his soulmate answers, and follows her into her room.

“Oh fuck,” Tony says heartily, glancing at him.

 _‘Oh fuck’ is right_ , Steve thinks, knowing how close they’ve come to being unveiled as ‘The Boyfriend’, knowing that the others (specifically Thor, Jane, Tony and Bruce) would figure it out soon enough if this keeps on.

And it’s not that he’s ashamed of their relationship. It’s not. Hell, he’d scream it for all the world to hear if he could. But Darcy wouldn’t let him, had asked him not to say a word, and above all, he needs to respect her boundaries.

He doesn’t want to be someone she feels she can’t trust.

“No,” Jane says, cutting into his thoughts. “No, they’re not going to…  _No_ ,” she repeats, tearing her eyes off the video to turn and stride through the door.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jane goes stock still, and so does everyone else in the room. Steve would grimace, because he hadn’t meant to sound so mad, but now that everyone’s watching him, he certainly feels it. Mad.

“To… to stop them,” Jane answers tentatively, glancing at Thor, who looks like he’s biting his tongue.

“Really?” Steve asks, containing his anger, his mind already sweeping through a verbal and mental tactical assault, recognizing that this was an opportune moment to stop the ridiculous intrusions into Darcy’s life. “You keep meddling and prying into Darcy’s life and it always backfires on you, but you haven’t learned your lesson yet?”

Jane swallows heavily. “Steve, I didn’t know he’s your soulmate. I’m so sorry. I’m going to fix it.”

“That’s not the point, Jane,” Steve nearly snaps. “The point is that Darcy’s a smart girl who can make decisions of her own. The point is that Darcy’s  _life_  is  _her own_ , but  _you_  treat it like it’s yours to  _play with_. Haven’t you noticed that you’re the only one calling these fucked up meetings?”

“I don’t treat her life like a  _plaything!_  I just want her to get better!”

“ _Don’t you?”_  he asks, stressing the words impatiently. “You nag and tell her what to do with her life, you check her skin for bruises _without permission_  while she’s  _asleep_ , and you were more than thrilled to set her up on a date with someone  _you_  think would ‘maybe probably  _definitely_  be a much better boyfriend’. And that’s just what I know, I’m sure there are others I’m not even aware of.”

“I didn’t set her up on a date!” Jane cries. “They were already on their way out together!”

“And you’re still missing the point,” Steve huffs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care about whatever part you played in that,” he points to the spot where the video had played. “Bucky chose to walk into that room on his own. What I  _really_  want you to do? Is stop. trying. to control. Darcy.”

“I’m not trying to control her!” she yells, clearly frustrated. “I’m trying to help her, damn it!”

Steve exhales and rubs a hand over his face. “My God,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s sadder—you trying to justify your actions as helping her or you being in denial about what you’re doing to her.”

Jane rears back, her eyes flashing, and he can practically see her unsheathing her metaphorical claws. “Me?” she volleys back contemptuously. “ _Look_ who’s talking.”

Everyone else in the room _shifts_ , Natasha and Clint straightening up, Bruce pinching his nose, Tony folding his arms and Thor wincing and swaying in place, looking ready to sweep Jane out of the room but unsure how the others would respond to him doing so.

Steve notices all of that from the corners of his eyes and ignores it, keeping his focus on Jane and her pitiful attempt to turn the tables on him. “Oh yes,” he nods, smiling grimly. “I did the exact same thing with Bucky, didn’t I?” She blinks, looking put-off that he’d readily admit to it. “I chased him around the world and he ran as far away from me as he could, ‘til he realized I wouldn’t stop chasing him until I could bring him home. And you know what he did,” he reminds her. “He broke my heart and made me walk away from him.” He nods his head to the screen pointedly. “You gonna learn from my mistakes, Jane? Or are you gonna wait until that happens to you and Darcy? Until she runs away and breaks your heart? ‘Cause that’s what’ll happen if you don’t stop chasing her.”

Jane’s jaw clenches as she holds back the tears forming in her eyes and glances at the others, perhaps in search of support. But the others only stare back at her, and even Thor says nothing to comfort her. She realizes quickly that she  _has_  no support in this room, not on this subject, and slaps a hand over a sob as she hurries out the door.

Steve lets his shoulders slump down, feeling awful for making her cry, but also feeling triumphant. Because surely,  _surely_  this meant she would finally stop harassing Darcy.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Thor, turning his head in the alien prince’s direction.

“No, my friend,” Thor replies kindly. “Your words were harsh, but correct. My Jane… she cares deeply for Lady Darcy, and she wishes to regain the carefree woman that was once her companion. I’ve tried to speak with her about this as well, but she doesn’t understand, or perhaps she doesn’t wish to understand, that Lady Darcy will never be the same again. And I believe it is for that reason that no advice I gave could reach her and make her see the hurt she causes our friend. I can only hope that your words do.” His team member strides forward to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You have done right by Lady Darcy today, and as her friend, I thank you for it on her behalf.”

The relief [and the gratitude] that had buoyed up at Thor’s compassion [and willingness to forgive him for basically yelling at his girlfriend and making her cry] sinks at when he hears that.  _You have done right by Lady Darcy today_ , he said, but…

He hasn’t. If he wanted to do right by Darcy, he would fess up, here and now.

If he wanted to do right by Darcy, he’d take her on dates and bring her breakfast and whisk her away from work in the middle of the day where anyone can see, where anyone can _know_ what he’s stealing her away for and why she’s sauntering back to her desk with a smile on her face.

If he wanted to do right by Darcy, he wouldn’t keep her a secret.

“Thanks, Thor,” Steve says, trying to smile and probably failing. He glances at the others as Thor releases him, Natasha, Clint and Bruce nodding at him, conveying their support of his words, and Tony shrugs at him.

“What he said,” his host tells him. “But you know,” he adds, “Lewis really does need help. She can’t keep putting it off forever.”

“Maybe she was putting it off because everyone kept trying to force her to go,” Steve points out. “Bucky felt the same, remember? He didn’t want to talk to a stranger. Maybe she doesn’t either.”

Tony blinks at him. “Huh,” he grunts, scratching at his chin and glancing at the now-blank mirror where the video had played. “Huh.”

Steve really hates it when Tony does that. “What?” he demands, following his glances but seeing nothing there.

“Barnes and Lewis,” Tony says, leaning his elbows into the counter as he takes a seat, notably one that wasn’t across anyone else. “HYDRA. Experimentation.” He points up at the mirror. “Maybe that’s Lewis reaching out to, y’know, connect, not her and Barnes having an affair on you.”

Natasha snorts, and Steve knows she’s finding the whole thing hilarious just as much as he finds it ironic. He’s seen the parallels between them, of course, and at first he thought that was why Darcy was so attractive to him. She’d reminded him so much of the old Bucky, what with her dark hair and blue eyes and that mouthy, dominant and charming personality, on top of the way she acted like Bucky after he was rescued in 1943. A long time ago, Bucky had done his best to avoid the topic of his time with HYDRA, and he flinched at certain words and would fall victim to night terrors unless Steve bunked in with him.

Darcy shares a great deal with that old Bucky, as Steve had learned over the course of their four-month relationship, and yes, that was the reason he had continued to return to her at first. But those particular rose-colored glasses had fallen off his nose shortly after she offered herself up to him completely, and he’d started falling for _her_ , instead of what he thought she reminded him of.

“That’s a good point,” he nods, and half-hopes that it’s true. The other part of him hopes that this is them finally clearing the air, that this was Bucky telling Darcy how much she meant to him and Darcy telling him she reciprocated those feelings.

“Indeed,” Thor nods. “I doubt that Lady Darcy would seduce James, not when she is aware of your bond with him, Steven.”

Steve smiles. “No, she wouldn’t,” he agrees, because she’d outright admitted him that Bucky’d had to convince her that it would be all right to join them, and told him that she  _would_  leave if either he or Bucky wanted her gone, because she didn’t want to get in the way of their ‘epic love story’.

She was selfless, much too selfless, and he both loved and hated that in her, loved that she had such a noble and brave spirit and hated that it meant she was willing to endure pain if it meant making someone happy. It was one of the reasons why he did his best to make happy and her feel wanted, to let her know that she was— _is_ —loved.

“Right,” Tony knocks on the table. “We done here? ‘Cause I was in the middle of something important.”

“Is it my bow?”

“Is it my gauntlets?”

“Is it my pants?” Steve smiles at Bruce’s jab. Tony's been trying to make him a pair of pants that would grow and shrink when Bruce transformed, but so far, he hasn’t managed it.

Tony points a finger at Bruce. “I will get you those pants, you just wait.”

“That’s all I’m gonna do for those pants anyway. Wait.” Natasha high-fives him for the comment, and Steve bites his lip on a laugh even as Thor throws his head back and guffaws.

“I’m gonna work on Barton’s bow now,” Tony grumbles as he stalks out of the room. “He’s the only one who’s nice to me.”

Clint beams and hops off his seat to follow him. “Hey, Stark! I was thinking maybe you could make me some net arrows.”

“Net arrows? What the fuck and why?”

“Um, because you can.”

“…good point,” is the last thing Steve hears from them.

“I too must take my leave,” Thor says as their friends bantered, his mirthful smile fading. “Jane… she will be quite cross with me.”

“Don’t take it too hard,” Natasha tells him. “Her heart is in the right place, but she needs to see that she’s not doing the right thing. It’s true that some people need to be pushed, but if you push too hard and too often, then you run the risk of harming instead of helping those people.” She considers Thor again, then adds, “You know that well, don’t you?”

“Indeed, and I do try,” Thor sighs. “But in this matter, she is stubborn.”

Natasha tilts her head at him thoughtfully. “Tell her a story,” she says to Thor, who blinks at her in confusion. “You understand what Darcy’s going through. You’ve seen it, and you’ve felt it, through comrades who come back changed men and women. Am I wrong?”

“No, you are correct,” Thor answers, nodding slowly with realization flaring in his eyes. “You advise me to share my own experiences with her, instead of simply advising her.”

“Yes,” Natasha nods back. “Tell her of a similar situation. Two, if possible. One that ends positively and one that doesn’t.”

Thor gives a pained grimace, but nods. “I believe this is a wise course of action,” he says. “Thank you, Lady Natasha. You have given me great counsel today. And thank you as well, Steven,” he adds, clapping a hand on his shoulder again, “for imparting your wisdom to my beloved Jane. If you no longer have need of me, I wish to take my leave from you all and find Jane.”

Steve can only smile as Bruce and Natasha bid him good luck. It might’ve been strained, but Thor doesn’t seem to notice since he exits the room.

“Join us for tea, Steve,” Bruce says, already fetching him a glass.

“Give them time to talk,” Natasha agrees over his attempt to decline.

He blinks. “You think they’re talking?”

“James isn’t careless,” she says in an almost chastising tone. “He wouldn’t follow her into her room with the cameras activated if he was going to sleep with her.”

Steve experiences a moment of panic as he looks up at the other person in the room, who only raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh please,” Bruce says in response to his obvious anxiety, sliding the cup he’d filled in Steve’s direction. “I’ve known about you three for some time now.”

Understandably, Steve splutters, caught off-guard. “What, how?”

“I caught Darcy when she came to the medical floor for some bruising cream,” Bruce answers, then pauses as he was about to take a sip from his cup. “I trust you’re already aware of her bruise and the bite on her shoulder?” Steve nods. “Good. Anyway, I gave her some ointment to help it heal, since I don’t think she wanted you to know about them at first.”

“She didn’t,” Steve confirms. “She kept wearing a shirt to bed. Wouldn’t take it off for anything,” he adds, remembering how she sacrificed the video of her relieving herself with her toys instead of simply letting them take her shirt off.

“Wait, how did you know it was them from just those?” Natasha asks.

Bruce turns red and darts a wary look at Steve. “She let me take a look,” he admits, “since the bruise was made by James’s left hand. Her skin got trapped in the spaces, I think, since there were ridges from where his hand would’ve bent. It wasn’t hard to figure things out from there.”

“Thank you, Bruce,” Steve tells him, trying to put the man at ease and assure him he wasn’t mad. “Darcy… she wouldn’t let us help, so I’m glad she had someone else in her life she can turn to to do that for her.”

The scientist relaxes and nods. “You’re welcome,” he says. “But I didn’t do it for you, I did it for her, because she’s my friend.”

“I know,” Steve smiles. “That’s why I’m grateful.”

Bruce smiles back. “Good. Just… take care of her,” he tells Steve. “And… don’t take this the wrong way, but you both really do have to stop leaving bruises on her, Steve. You’re superhuman, and so is James. One day, you’ll forget yourself, and then it wouldn’t just be a bruise you give her—it might be a bone fracture or a crushed bone or a clean break.” Bruce gives him a serious look. “Or worse.”

Steve flinches at the insinuation, and he abruptly remembers how Bucky had looked earlier while he took Darcy to her second orgasm, like he was losing control and doing everything possible to hold on. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking of how easily it could’ve been her Bucky had hurt, instead of destroying another set of sheets. And then he bites his lip guiltily, because Bucky’s not the only one who’s been ripping through their bed coverings over the last four months, and every time _he_ did, he would always think to himself, ever so briefly, that he was glad he hadn’t been holding onto Darcy instead.

Bruce was right. They were getting complacent. _Well no_ , Steve corrects himself, _he_ was getting complacent. Bucky… He’d lost the hard edge he used to have, touched Darcy like she was a precious thing ever since they saw the remnants of her bruise, and…

God, why did it take Bruce pointing it out for him to notice that?

“She’s only human, Steve,” Bruce continues. “You have to treat her like she’s delicate because, compared to you, she _is_.”

“I know,” he repeats, and looks Bruce in the eye. “I’ll stop. But you have to know that I— _we_ wouldn’t do that to her. _Never_ , Bruce. This…”

He stops, realizing he’s on the verge of breaking his silence. But then again, Bruce already knows, doesn’t he? He’d put two and two together and came up with a solid conclusion, and Natasha had confirmed it not two minutes ago.

 _Steve_ hadn’t broken his promise. He hadn’t had to. And now that the opportunity to _talk_ was here, well, he _wants to_.

He takes a deep breath and looks Bruce in the eye. “I love her,” he says simply. “I fell in love with her months ago, before Bucky came back. And leaving her for him…” Shame suffuses him at the reminder of his actions. “Leaving her for him had been the hardest and easiest thing I ever did.”

Bruce smiles and pushes the tea into his hands. “Tell me,” he says, and Natasha smiles and nods supportively at him.

(So he tells them everything.)

*

Neither he nor Darcy said anything when they first stepped into her room. She just leads him to her bed and pushes him on it. He doesn’t protest when she removes his cap and his jacket before bending down to tug his boots off, just as she doesn’t comment when he guides her onto the bed and divests her of her own shoes. And when she pulls him wordlessly beside her on the bed, he pulls her close so that she can rest her head on his chest, his right arm on her back and hand cupping her jean-covered hip while his metal fingers take her right hand and place it over her heart—a facsimile of their sleeping position the night before, and the night before that.

“Is this okay?” he finally asks.

“Yeah,” she answers, “it is.”

Her slim fingers play with his silver ones, tracing and brushing the plates that let them bend and curl and grip, and then aligning her small hand along his—palm to palm, skin to metal—before turning them so that she can slip her thin digits between his. And every touch and motion sends joy and heartache and happiness and sadness and many other conflicting emotions through him.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He wasn’t supposed to admit his attraction to her so early, so soon. He’d planned on being nicer first, on showing her how he felt before he said them, had planned to court her a little bit, have dinner with her and Steve, get her used to him being nicer before he, as Natasha said, made his intentions towards her clear.

But he’d been… impatient. He’d wanted her to know at once, even though her knowing would risk the tenuous balance they were starting to find. He’d wanted her to know, wanted to somehow make up for his disinterest and disdain, for his condescension and aloofness, and that moment earlier had been… well, not _perfect_ , but enough.

He understands why she’d been surprised. To her, the change must be sudden. Well, not just to her, but to him as well. He’d spent so long disliking her, both secretly and actively, that it was often hard to believe that his affections were real, that this whole thing wasn’t just a dream his mind was cooking up to mess with hi—

“You said you don’t hate me anymore,” Darcy speaks up abruptly. “Tell me what that means.”

He drops his train of thought to focus on her once more, and sees that she doesn’t move her head to look at him, nor has she stopped playing with his hand.

He takes a deep breath. “It means I’ve grown to like you,” he replies. “That I no longer resent you.”

“You were very angry with me,” she says, and he grimaces at the reminder. “You held me up against my bathroom door and put a hand around my neck. And then you told me you would’ve killed me if you could’ve gotten away with it.”

“Yes,” he agrees with a dry mouth and an ugly, guilty knot in his gut. “I did. All that.”

“You see why I’m confused, right?”

“I do.”

“And you said,” she pauses, “you said you haven’t figured out why or how. That you’re still sorting through it.”

“I still am.”

“Can we try something?”

“What?”

“Tell me everything?” she asks quietly, interlocking their fingers together. “Maybe that would help the both of us understand.”

The oddest thing happens then, because where he normally clams up and shuts down at the prompt, he suddenly finds himself willing to tell her everything she wants to know. Not even Steve has managed to evoke this want and openness from him, and it…

It _disturbs_ him.

 _Bothers_ him.

“How do you do this to me?” he finds himself asking.

“Do what?” she asks curiously, her body shifting as if she wants to look up at him, but doesn’t.

He swallows. “Make me want things I shouldn’t.”

Her hand twitches around his, her body sucking in a surprised breath. “Like… like what?” she asks with almost quiet apprehension.

He inhales and exhales deeply to steady himself, swallowing again before he speaks. “Like you,” he answers. “Like answerin’ you. Like tellin’ you everything. Like bein’ honest. I don’t even want to do that with Steve most of the time, but you… right now, you make me want to.”

He hears her gulp loudly. “Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know,” he answers.

She falls quiet, and so does he, his mind racing through everything once gain and trying to rationalize his change of heart for the millionth time. Had it truly been because of that night? Because he saw her unwilling to do something for Steve for the first time? Because he stopped seeing her as a soulmate-thieving whore? Because she slipped up and called him by his name for the first time? Because _he_ slipped up and bit her hard and marked her as his?

Or maybe it started when he slapped her out of that panic attack? Or maybe when he first read about her experience with HYDRA.

Or perhaps it happened that first time he fucked her and made her come so hard she soaked the bed. Or when he first put his mouth to her cunt and realized how far he could drive her crazy.

He couldn’t be sure. There were so many instances, so many possible starting points. They’ve been having sex for almost four months now, and they fucked almost every night since they started.

“Will you?” Darcy asks him suddenly. “Tell me?”

 _Yes_ , he thinks. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asks back instead. “It’s not gonna be a pretty story, Darcy.”

“I know that,” she says, her head shifting so she can press her lips to his chest, her lips leaving a light pink stain on his shirt. “Tell me anyway.”

He swallows, suddenly all too aware of how badly this can go, of how she can react and of how she might just pull the plug on their arrangement. He thinks he might’ve screwed himself over on purpose by telling her what he told her in the café, that he told her because he wanted to implode this relationship, because he wanted her to go before he screwed _her_ over too. And now he wishes he’d stuck to his guns, thinks he should’ve stuck to the plan, should’ve never admitted anything. Or maybe he should’ve just kept their status quo, should've let their arrangement just quietly progress into a relationship without ever addressing the issue.

Maybe he should’ve just been selfish.

“Can I kiss you first?” he finds himself asks before he can think too hard on it, on being selfish this one last time. “I… Just once more.”

Darcy tugs his metal hand closer and presses her lips to the base of his thumb, before letting go so she can push up and support herself on her arm, her elbow touching the bend of his shoulder. “Such a pessimist,” she smiles weakly as she looks at him. “Why couldn’t it be ‘just once more _for now_ ’?”

He appreciates the feeble attempt at levity, but doesn’t let her change the subject. “You’re beautiful,” he tells her, tucking the loose hair hanging over her forehead and eye and cheek behind her ear so that he could memorize her, memorize this moment.

She flushes. “Shut up,” she says reflexively, moving in for the kiss he’d asked for.

“No,” he replies, his lip twitching at the familiar exchange as he pulls back just a little. “You’re beautiful. Smart. Funny.”

“Fucked up,” she interjects, lips brushing over his, “damaged, paranoid.”

“Stop describin’ me,” he murmurs.

Her eyes widen as she rears slightly back in surprise and breathes a sharp laugh. “I wasn’t,” she says, biting her lip.

“Sure sounded like,” he says, a smile coming easily to him at the sight of her grin.

Darcy’s smile goes smaller, becomes more wry than astonished. “Guess we’re just two peas in a pod.”

His own grin never changes. “Wouldn’t mind sharin’ space with _you_ , sweetheart.”

Her lips twitch up higher. “Yeah?” she asks, her eyes dilating slightly as his eyes drop to her mouth.

“Yeah,” he nods, feeling a little dizzy when her own gaze lowers to watch him lick at his suddenly dry lips.

She swallows, and so does he, and then— “C’mere,” she murmurs, sliding her hand under his neck, the other smoothing up his torso to rake through his hair, her body pushing into his, legs tangling together.

He kisses her then, helping her situate herself over him, pulling her closer as he presses his lips against hers before sliding just a bit lower to suck at her bottom lip, his eyes falling shut when hers do. It’s languid and… _sweet_ , he thinks. It’s good. It’s perfect.

Perfect for a last kiss.

And then it changes, and surprisingly, he’s not the one responsible for that. Darcy deepens the kiss, her tongue licking at him before her teeth wrap around his bottom lip to tug deliciously at him, and he opens for her, eager and grateful for this chance. She tastes like coffee, and underneath that, mint, and he groans when she suddenly sucks on his tongue and flicks hers over it while dragging her leg up to carefully put weight against his groin.

He doesn’t want to stop her. Given the choice, he would rather kiss her than talk, would choose to take what she’s offering rather than possibly chase her away.

He wants her. He wants her like he wants Steve.

They’re the only things he can remember ever wanting this badly.

But despite that… He rolls them over, bringing them close to the edge of the mattress, and then he pushes himself off her even as her legs fold up, her knees tucking close between his elbows and sides as her heels drag over his ass to lock together on the small of his back, keeping his hips pressed to her. Darcy tries to rise with him, following his lips with hers until she can no longer follow, and then moving her mouth to his jaw and his throat when he pulls back to say, “Stop.”

“No,” she replies, her hands pulling him back carefully but urgently. “No, don’t say anything, I changed my mind.” She kisses him again, clearly to silence him, and he’s tempted— _so tempted_ —to take the out, to let things move along to more pleasurable activities.

“Darcy,” he mumbles.

“Shut up,” she gasps.

“No,” he replies, then kisses her again, deep and firm and fervent. “No,” he says again.

“Ja— Barnes—”

“ _James_ ,” he tells her.

“James,” she echoes as he pulls away again. “Don’t say anything,” she begs him, clinging to him, keeping him against her. He opens his eyes and looks down at her, only to find she’s already watching him, looking desperate and teary and wild-eyed. “Don’t change this. Let it happen. Let us happen. I want this. I want _you_.”

 _Two peas in a pod_ , he remembers her saying, and can’t help but realize she’s more right than she knows.

“I want you too,” he tells her, and watches relief and happiness and desire and contentment bloom across her face. He reaches up and hooks his finger over the curls looping across her forehead, pushing them off and out of the way so he can see her, take her in again. “I want this too. I want us to happen, more than anything.”

“Let it,” she urges him, her legs squeezing around his waist pointedly. “Let it. Please.”

“Not like this,” he asks. “Not like this, Darcy. Let me do right by you. Let me do better. Be better.”

She sucks in a shuddering breath and rears up, pushing her face into his covered shoulder. His _left_ shoulder. He could feel her cheek pressing against the metal over his flesh and muscle and bone and tries to pull back, knowing it couldn’t be comfortable for her there. But Darcy just grips him tighter, and he realizes why when he feels her tears drip and slide over his skin.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pushing up completely and bringing his legs over the edge of the mattress, fixing himself so that he can sit up and she can stay on his lap at the same time. “What’s wrong?” he prompts her. “C’mon, Darcy, let me know what I can do for you.”

A small keening noise escapes her. “Why?” she whimpers. “Why do you want to do right by me? I’m broken. I’m a freak. I’m sick and I’m not getting better, but you want to be that for me? You want to be better for me? I don’t— I can’t—”

“ _Yes_ ,” he answers, pressing her closer to him and moving his hand up and down her back, knowing the motion would bring her comfort. “I want to… Darcy, _god_ , I’m just like you. Everything you just said, _everything_ , it’s all I want and it’s all I am too. Two peas in a goddamned pod.

“But I want to get better,” he continues. “For Steve, at first. And now for you too. I want to be better for both of you. I… I’m _ready_ to be better.”

And he _was_ ready, he realizes just then. He hadn’t been ready for months, for over a _year_ , in fact, but now he _is_ and…

 _And it’s not because of this_ , he thinks when he tries to pinpoint the cause. He’d been wrong when he thought earlier that it was something she does to him. It wasn’t that after all.

He was just ready now. Ready to share, ready to let go of the demons in his head. That must’ve been the reason why he was so eager to tell her how he fel—

His train of thought derails as she goes tense, a sob escaping her while her hands ball up into fists over his back, her whole body trembling as she starts to cry. “But I’m not,” she says, barreling through the panic that’s rising inside him. “I’m not ready to be better. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

He swallows as relief blows straight through him at the knowledge that she wasn’t upset with him for what he said. “That’s okay,” he assures her. “You don’t have to be. You don’t have to rush, sweetheart. Got all the time in the world.”

Somehow, she manages to cling even closer to him, but her body loses the tension it had gained at his admission. “Really?” she asks him, and he winces as he belatedly realizes that the topic was a sore spot for her, that it was the reason she was growing more and more distant to Foster, who was always telling her to go see her assigned shrink and stop delaying her ‘treatment’.

“Yeah,” he tells her. “I get it. Takes time to be ready, sweetheart, and I wasn’t ready for a long time too. No shame in that.”

She sniffles. “Some shame.”

He smiles a little. “Okay, maybe some,” he agrees, because it’s true. He felt like a failure—still does—whenever he couldn’t get something right, whenever he misses some cue or joke or memory or even when he entertained murderous thoughts about the people around him when they were being annoying. “But that’s okay. It’s part of the process. And one day, you’ll be ready. I know you will.”

“What if I’m never ready?” she asks, sounding so scared it hits him right in the gut.

“That’s okay too,” he tells her, though he’s pretty sure she will be. “I’ll still be here with you, if you’ll have me. Steve too.”

“I want you,” she whispers, and the words have him bowing his head to press his lips to her shoulder in gratitude and elation. “I didn’t want to, and I tried so hard not to, but you…. I didn’t even notice you were in until you were already there.” She hiccups a laugh. “Just like Steve.”

“Two peas in a pod,” he murmurs. “Same here, you sneaky thing.”

She chuckles lightly, shifting in his lap to pull away and look at him, and it’s ridiculous how gorgeous she still looks even with her flushed face and red nose and tear-stained cheeks. He doesn’t even think about it—he just raises his right hand and brushes his knuckle over her cheeks, one at a time, to wipe her tears away, and she huffs and sniffs and raises her own hands to her face to swipe roughly under her eyes.

“I probably look like a mess,” she grumbles.

“Was just thinkin’ the opposite, actually,” he tells her, taking her wrists in his and gently lifting her hands over his head while he leans in to kiss her once. Twice. “You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up,” she replies, yanking him closer to her for a longer kiss.

“No,” he mumbles, and she groans and laughs a little as he moves away, pecking her once more before pressing his cheek to hers, just breathing her in. “You’re probably going to hate me when you hear what I have to say.”

She sighs, her hands sliding over his back to hug him tight. “You thought I was a no good, soulmate-stealing whore,” she says, shocking him into rearing back to look her in the eye. She smiles, more amused than bitter or angry. “You didn’t exactly keep it a secret, remember?”

“Darcy…” He swallows, knowing she was right but still horrified that she _already knows_. “I’m so sorry.”

She pulls her right hand from his back to drag a finger over his jaw. “I forgive you,” she says like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do.

“Why?” he asks. “Why? _How?_ Darcy, god, I hurt you and threatened you and—”

“I forgive you,” she repeats, tapping her finger over his lips, her face sincere.

He swallows again, unable to believe what he’s hearing, but also so fucking grateful for it. “I don’t think that anymore,” he tells her, seeking to reassure her.

“I know.”

“And I never will again,” he vows.

“I know.”

“And I won’t treat you like that again,” he promises.

“I know. Wait.” She pauses. “Can we negotiate that?”

“And I— What?” he asks, confused.

She purses her lips, her cheeks reddening, embarrassment lining her face. “Nothing. Later. Let’s talk about it later.”

He frowns in dissatisfaction at her attempt to divert the conversation, his mind racing to dissect the— “Oh,” he says, realizing what she meant. He smiles and shakes his head. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

She bites her lip, eyes turning down briefly before looking back up at him. “I still want you,” she tells him, and he sucks in a relieved breath at the reassurance. “You can tell me anything, and that won’t change. I know who you are. I’ve always known who you are. And I still found myself wanting you.”

 _God, if this is a dream, please never let it end_. “I’ve tried to push you away plenty of times,” he finds himself saying. “But I keep failing.”

She smiles. “Keep at it.”

He huffs a rueful laugh.

“Can you tell me more?” she asks, laying her hand over his heart. “About this?”

He exhales shakily. “Sweetheart,” he says, “M’gonna tell you everything.”

(And he does.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I don't put much of the others' perspectives in the story, because the focus is the relationship of Steve, Darcy and Bucky, but much like Bruce and Natasha (and Clint), Thor figures out that although he wants good things for Darcy, it's not up to him to decide what she should do with her life.
> 
> Tony already got the smackdown from Natasha in Chapter 2, so with the exception of his 'I need to know this NOW' mindset, he's mostly backed off of Darcy's private life. And as mentioned, Natasha and Clint (and Bruce, I think?) only attend in case things go down badly during a meeting.
> 
> That left Jane as the primary 'nagger', and hopefully, Steve's helped her see that she's not really helping Darcy by pressuring her to do things. But, since she ran away _after_ she realized no one would help her out with the argument, Steve's words probably didn't really sink in her head. Or maybe she just needs time to think about it. We'll see, okay? (Still not my intention to bash Jane, okay? But people don't change their minds overnight. Give her some time to get her head straight and be the friend Darcy really needs, not the friend Jane thinks she needs. =D)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy listens to Bucky. Steve talks to Natasha and Bruce. Bucky gets interrupted, but that's probably for the best for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE GREATER APPRECIATION FOR AUTHORS WHO WRITE ROMANCE WITHOUT PORN. THIS SHIT IS HARD, YO.
> 
> Thanks to Rainne for being pushy about this chapter, because it was kicking my butt and she was like, "No, don't give in, I need my OT3!" And I'm like, "Shit, I gotta give this up or she'll never show me that thing she's making right now!" And OMG you guys, you gotta watch out for that thing she's making right now, I'm super excited about it!!! *shameless advertising*
> 
> WARNINGS: Mentions murderous intentions, plus lots of angst, okay?
> 
> And if you haven't seen it, CHAPTER 1 HAS BEEN REWRITTEN. It was suggested that I tone down that meeting between Bucky and Darcy in her room, and I know a lot of you were as disconcerted about it too, so I said "What the hell, I'll do it." ANYWAY, here's the original and what changed:
> 
> Original: Darcy finds Bucky in her room and turns tail and runs, Bucky details her and threatens her with her own Taser, which causes her to go into a panic attack and forces Bucky to slap her out of it.
> 
> Changed: Darcy finds Bucky in her room and _doesn't_ turn tail and run. This results in a slightly more civil conversation that _still_ causes her to go into a panic attack and makes Bucky to slap her out of it.
> 
> So the violent, turbulent first meeting is still there, but less intense. I think. Um, see for yourselves, I guess? Anyway, tell me if it's better or not. *smiles nervously*

Darcy thinks she already knows it all. She thinks she’s ready to hear everything, that she’s been adequately warned and that nothing he says will be a surprise to her.

She’s almost right.

But she’s mostly wrong.

She knows the basics, and only the basics. She knows Barnes thinks and treats her like a whore, but she doesn’t realize exactly how deep his hatred of her ran until he starts telling her about it.

(And it hurts. It  _burns_.)

(He burns her and it hurts and she doesn’t let him stop, even when it’s clear that he wants to.)

“I went lookin’ for him,” Barnes tells her. As soon as he remembered how much he loved Steve, how much he  _s_ _till_  loves Steve  _that way_ , Barnes went looking for the man he'd turned away. It had taken him a day to discover that Steve was living here in the tower, and within forty hours, he was knocking on their front door.

“And when I realized why you avoided Steve so much, and why Steve always looked so guilty when he saw you,” he says, “I didn’t really care at first.” Because so what if she’d had him for a little while? Steve had left her as soon as Barnes came back to him, and that was that. He hadn’t been angry that his soulmate tried to look for happiness elsewhere, especially since he was the one who pushed Steve away in the first place. And he hadn’t cared that she was so obviously in love with Steve because he thought Steve wouldn’t go back to her, not now that he was there.

“But then I realized he wasn’t just lookin’ at you because he felt guilty,” he shares, “he looked at you because he  _missed_  you.” That’s when he began to resent her. And with every moment he saw Steve’s eyes tracking her when he could see her, his dislike grew more and more, until he realized Steve had been in love with her, and had been ready to move on from him with her.

“Don’t tell me he didn’t,” he says to her quietly when she tries to tell him otherwise. He’d spent two months watching her dance around Steve, two months cultivating the little seed of hatred growing in his gut, and within that time, he’d imagined thousands of ways he could rid the world of her and make it look like an accident.

“Natalia warned me off though,” he admits, much to her surprise, and reveals that not only had Natasha known about her and Steve since their first encounter in the kitchen over ten months ago, she had also known Barnes well enough to predict his response if and when he realized how deep Steve’s feelings for her really were. Natasha told him that if anything happened to Darcy, she would tell Steve that Barnes had known about them and paint him as a suspect, regardless of how accidental her death would’ve looked. But clearly, Natasha hadn’t left things to chance, seeing as how she had trained Darcy to run if Barnes ever came for her.

Not that it did any good, considering how recklessly Darcy had reacted when she found him in her room.

“I wanted to,” he confesses when she asks if he’d been tempted to kill her then, pain and shame in his voice. He’d thought about it, about wrapping his hand around her neck and squeezing until she stopped scrambling and twitching and scratching and kicking, and while thinking back on it now had him feeling disgusted and ashamed, back then, the mere thought sent a thrill down his spine. But he hadn’t done it, because Natasha’s promise to taint his name with her death was wrapped around his throat like a collar of a  _garrote vil_ , and the threat of Steve leaving him for that had been enough to leash his desire to kill her.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her when she says nothing to what he’d just admitted, his fingers flexing over her hips. “Darcy, I’m so sorry.”

“Keep going,” she rasps, scratching her nails as she speaks and not daring to pull back from where she’s hiding against his shoulder, not daring to show him her face even though it’s pretty obvious that she’s crying again. She hears and feels him exhales raggedly and sniffle when he takes a deep breath, and she thinks he might be crying too.  _That’s not right_ , she thinks for a moment, because what right does he have to cry after what he’d just told her?

But the thought is forgotten quickly when he complies, and he goes on and on for what feels like hours. He tells her how he hadn’t meant to have sex with her that first night, how he hadn’t expected her to unravel  _him_  while they were putting a show on for Steve. He tells her how he swore to never have sex with her after that, until Steve nixes those intentions by asking if they can to do it again. He tells her how he said he’d never put his mouth on her body or let her mouth near his groin, but then does it when Steve asks if they can do  _that_  to each other.

He tells her about how he does everything Steve wants him to. He tells her that he does everything for Steve to ensure Steve stays happy with him. He tells her about his fear of his soulmate leaving him for her, about the nightmares he had and the insecurities her presence stirred within him.

And with every word that comes out of his mouth, Darcy feels her gut kick and her chest tighten and her soul ache in pain. All those times he had her underneath him—his hands on her hips or her wrists—she’d seen that sharp glint of triumph in his eyes and known he was thinking of how easy it would be to break her or hurt her or even kill her. And she was right. He’d thought of it every single time, and if Steve hadn’t been there, he might have just done it.

[But at the same time, her body remembers every moment he mentions, remembers his hands on her skin and his hot mouth on her flesh and his words (dear god, his  _words)_  sinking into her as deeply as his length could go inside her. She remembers seeing that look in his eyes and not caring, because she trusted—and she hadn’t even known until now that she’d  _trusted_  him in those little moments—that he wouldn’t hurt her while Steve was there.]

“I think I was obsessed,” he murmurs tentatively. “I think I was so obsessed. I wanted Steve to be happy with me, but I also wanted…” His fingers flex on her skin again, and he sighs, long and irate. “I don’t know. I don’t really know what I wanted, but… but I was thinkin’ about you all the time too. When I wasn’t thinkin’ about Steve, or talkin’ to anyone or workin’ out, I was thinkin’ about you.”

She has a feeling that he hadn’t been thinking of her in the best light.

“I  _was_  obsessed,” he says with the air of a man experiencing an epiphany. “God, I… I spent a lotta time plannin’ what to do to you when night came. How I was gonna touch you. How I was gonna make you lose control again.” And it would’ve been sweet, that sentiment, if he hadn’t continued with how he wanted to prove to  _her_  that she wasn’t in love with Steve, that he wanted to show her that all she really wanted was someone to fuck her until she forgot her problems and her past, until all she could do was  _feel_  and know she  _exists_.

She keens as her heart  _breaks_  at the admission, at the near-exact assessment he’d made of her desires.

“Sorry,” he whispers, sounding as wrecked as she does. “I’m sorry, Darcy… Let’s stop. Let me stop. You don’t need to hear anymore. God, I shouldn’t have told you this, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” she chokes out. “No, I need to know. Please… Please, don’t… don’t take this… don’t take this from me…”

“Fuck.” He lets out a ragged breath and presses his forehead to her shoulder, mimicking her pose against him. “I won’t. I won’t, sweetheart, fuck, I won’t.”

Relief washes through her at his reluctant promise, even as her chest tightens and her mind braces itself for more. “I believe you,” she says. “What happened next?”

He sighs deeply, and then brings up  _that night_. “I forgot myself,” he replies near-silently, and tells her about him losing control, about him forgetting his strength and her limitations, when she called him by his name for the first time. He tells her about the aftermath of him taking her ass, about how he finally realized that she wasn’t just some intruder trying to forget her troubles through sex.

“You were a girl,” he breathes, then presses a kiss to her shoulder. “You’re young still, and you were hurt. Badly. I knew what you’d been through, but that was the only time it really hit me. I’m so sorry it took me so long to see that.” His palms smooth up her waist before jerking to a stop and sliding back down, and even after everything she’s just learned, she still wants to tell him that it’s okay to touch her. That she’s still okay with him touching her.

She probably shouldn’t be fine with that now, but she  _is_ , and she grits her teeth at the conflict that the simple act evokes from her. Barnes abruptly goes still, his movements ceasing entirely, and she realizes he can hear her grinding her teeth. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushes closer to him, nuzzling her cheek against him, and his breath catches in his throat.

“And then what?” she asks, and he exhales heavily and begins drawing circles over her shirt with his thumb.

“And then I started…  _caring_ ,” he decides to say, continuing his recounting. “Those three days you didn’t come by…” He exhales. “I was worried I’d fucked up. I was… I  _thought_  I was worried because I ruined our arrangement, and Steve… I was afraid he’d be angry with me and leave. I spent those three days trying to catch you alone,” he adds before she can say anything to calm his fears, before she can scoff and point out how impossible it would be for Steve to abandon him. “I thought you were avoidin’ us because of what I said about you takin’ both of us at the same time. I wanted to tell you that it was just talk, that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to.”

And then he tells her about the relief he’d felt when she returned, about his surprise when Steve confronted her like that, about the shocked thrill that shot through him when she let him spank her into an orgasm. He tells her that that’s where he first slipped up.

“That night’s still pretty vivid in my head,” he says quietly, and tells her how he thought she was ‘confusing as fuck, but he liked her for it’ anyway. “I didn’t want to admit it then,” he tells her, “but…”

She inhales deeply and closes her eyes, not really needing him to finish the sentence to know what he means. And despite _everything_  he’d just said, despite all the truly  _horrible_  things he’s admitted to her, Darcy still feels her heart trip and flip and skip up to her throat, feels the confession soothe the ache in her soul, loosen the tension in her chest and unravel the knot coiled in her gut.

“I ignored it,” he whispers. “I pushed it away, and I took it out on you.”

“I remember,” she replies, and yeah, that  _does_  explain the sudden urgency that slipped into the otherwise pretty lighthearted sexing.

“And then you paid me back,” he adds wryly, an amused breath escaping him. “I’d been holdin’ on for too long and I couldn’t finish.” But then she’d talked to him, he mentions, and yes, she remembers that, because the way he looked at her as he came had had her reaching between her legs during her morning shower. “That was the end of me.” He swallows. “The end of me of hatin’ you.

“Or maybe that’s when I realized I didn’t hate you anymore,” he amends, huffing ruefully. “Not that I wanted to admit it. I’d been goin’ back and forth over you since then, tellin’ myself you shouldn’t matter, that I… that I didn’t like you, but,” he shakes his head slightly. “You did. Matter. And I did like you, and…” His thumbs brush circles over her as his hands slip up and down her hips and waist briefly. “I was an idiot.”

“No,” she says quietly. “I get it.”

“I know you do,” he replies, and her lips quirk up, a hint of happiness unfurling within her as she registers that he wasn’t being patronizing, that he really did know that she understands where he’s coming from. It gives her hope that he would understand  _her_ , if she ever feels ready to tell him her side of the story. “But I was still an idiot.”

 _But you’re my idiot_ , she almost says, and instead presses an audible kiss to his shirt-covered metal shoulder. The act seems to reassure him, because his palms slide around and up her back in a soothing gesture that has her closing her eyes and leaning into his touch.

He continues talking then, and this time, the tone of his story changes. Although it’s still laced with a hint of self-recrimination, his words are much lighter, more positive compared to the dreary, agonizing confession that had preluded it. He tells her how he’d had to stop himself from kissing her after that first time in her room, and how the urge had returned and grown exponentially since he did it again the night he invited her to start  _sleep_ -sleeping with them. He tells her how he used Steve’s affections for her as a buffer, as a reason for the invitation.

And then he tells her about buying her a blanket because of her tendency to hog the sheets.

“I do not!” she protests, pulling back to look at him for the first time since he revealed his past desires.

“Sweetheart,” he says, and the word doesn’t fail to kick her in the gut and scatter excitement through her body, “think about how many times you’ve woken up completely wrapped in our blankets. Why on earth would  _we_  do that to you every morning?”

She flushes and moves back to hide her face with a groaning laugh, realizing that he’s right. The first thing they always do—well,  _almost_  always do—is unwrap her from the sheets that cover her up. She’s had to untangle herself once too.

“I think Steve called you his adorable blanket burrito once,” he teases.

“Oh god,” she laughs, because that sounds just like the Steve Rogers she knows.

Ja— Barnes was grinning too, she can hear it in his voice when he says, “You should ask JARVIS to show you how you do it. Steve does.”

“What?” she asks, still laughing. “He didn’t!” But shit, that totally explained why the big dork’s so  _gleeful_  during breakfast.

“He  _does_ ,” he says. “Every mornin’, when you’re gone and I’m in the shower.”

“Son of a bitch,” she grumbles, but her ire is hidden under the disbelieving giggles that are still escaping her. “That jerk.”

“Please don’t be mad,” he requests, and even though his tone suddenly falls serious, he still somehow makes it clear that he  _is_  just requesting this, that he’s not  _telling_  her to do things, and fuck, but she finds that she really appreciates that. “I think it’s his way of convincin’ himself that you really did spend the night, that you’re real and he wasn’t just dreaming you up.”

She doesn’t need two seconds to be convinced that he’s right. Steve had a phobia about… about being left behind.

…just like Darcy.

…and Jame—  _Barnes_  too, now that she knows more about him.

“And you?” she asks, feeling less amused now. “You don’t watch with him?”

He shakes his head. “I… I do want to,” he admits. “But I don’t… I don’t feel…  _comfortable_ , I think? I mean, I…” He blows air from his mouth and rubs her back, but it feels more like he’s trying to reassure himself than her.

Or maybe he’s trying to reassure both of them. Darcy’s not entirely sure; she isn’t fluent in body language—well, not when sex isn’t involved, at least.

“I’ve invaded so much of your life already,” he murmurs remorsefully. “I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I felt guilty about that.”

“You—” Darcy pauses, trying to parse what he was saying. “Are you saying that you were trying to… give me  _privacy?”_

He pulls back and shoots her a scowl as she starts to giggle. “Is that so wrong?” he asks, frowning.

“N-no,” she shakes her head, still chortling. “It’s just… watching me turn myself into a ‘blanket burrito’…” she air quotes with a grin, “it’s just not something you need to feel guilty over.”

He purses his lips. “Probably,” he agrees, his frown fading into a lightly amused smile. “Still,” he shrugs, “m’not gonna do it without your permission.” His right hand moves off her back to cup her cheek, thumb stroking lightly under her left eye and over her cheekbone. “Not gonna do anythin’ to you without permission again.”

Darcy feels her amusement disappear under the clamor of emotions that swell from her chest at his serious proclamation. “Barnes…”

“James,” he reminds her.

She swallows. “James,” she acquiesces, his name tingling over her tongue and down her throat and chest and heads straight to her gut, and she’s not sure whether it frightens her or turns her on.

“What is it?” he asks, going completely still. “I… should I stop touchin’ you now?”

“No,” she says before he’s even done speaking, wrapping her fingers around his right wrist. “No, don’t.” She closes her eyes and sighs, because she’d gone from horrified to gratified so quickly and it’s crazy, it’s  _so_  crazy that he can do that to her.

 _How do you do this to me?_  he’d asked her earlier.

Well, right back atcha, Ba— Ja—

…Barnes. Barnes, because she’s not ready to call him by his name, no matter that she slips up sometimes and does. No matter what she says immediately after thinking that.

“Don’t stop touching me,” she murmurs, opening her eyes to look at him, and she sees his jaw slacken and clench, his eyes flashing and darkening in awareness. “Don’t ever stop touching.”

“Darcy,” he whispers, his breathing noticeably picking up. “Do you understand what you’re…?” He shakes his head slightly, though he never breaks eye contact with her. “I need you to spell this out for me, sweetheart. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or cross any boundaries.”

She exhales silently and tugs his hand down enough to place a kiss on his palm, making him suck in a short breath of air, before she pushes it further down, letting his hand slide over her neck and chest until he’s cupping her breast at her direction. “I like you touching me,” she says, and the intensity of his gaze doubles and nearly steals her words away. “I… Steve knows…” She closes her eyes briefly, trying to recollect her train of thought. “This is your permission,” she tells him quietly, smiling minutely when she hears the hurt sound that escapes his throat. “I’ll always want you to touch me. I’ll always do whatever you want me to. And if I don’t like it, or I’m not comfortable with it,” she cuts in when his eyes flash with hesitation and protest, “I’ll tell you. I’ll always tell you. And if I need space, I’ll tell you that too,” she promises him.

Barnes works his jaw briefly, then says, “You promise?” in the roughest voice she’s ever heard him speak with.

She thinks she knows what’s coming next and feels her breath catch in anticipation. “Yes,” she answers, and he sighs, long and low as he drops his gaze her lips. She licks them reflexively and watches him lean in, but instead of kissing her, he turns slightly to touch his lips to her shoulder again, his hand leaving her breast to slide around and press her closer to him, pulling her into a warm, reassuring hug.

Darcy swallows again to dislodge her heart from where it had jumped into her throat and brings her arms around to hug him back.

(She wishes he’d kissed her instead, but this, somehow, is much,  _much_  better.)

*

Steve pours everything out. Okay, not  _everything_ , the sex was a private thing, and even though Natasha wants to know it all, Steve’s mother raised him to be a gentleman and gentlemen never kiss and tell.

Or rather, he doesn’t share  _everything_ —not the specifics or the logistics of their sex life, at least. No, he focuses more on how their relationship started, about the defeat and heartache he felt when Bucky turned him away, about the grief and sense of loss he experienced after hearing Peggy had died, about feeling like he’d hit rock bottom yet again. He focuses on how Darcy had lifted that fog inside him, how she’d healed him just enough for him to believe in love again, just in time for Bucky to come back into his life again.

“Am I selfish?” he asks them after confessing his desire to woo Darcy, to date her and let the others know that she’s his just as much as Bucky is his, that he’s hers the way he’s Bucky’s too.

“Yes,” Natasha replies, her body remaining relaxed and entirely unconcerned.

“But Steve,” Bruce smiles kindly, “if we had what you have, we’d be selfish too.”

“Tell us more,” Natasha says, and Steve does. He talks until his chest feels light and his untouched cup of tea grows cold, and then he keeps talking still, because he’s in love and he can talk about it and his friends are smiling like they’re both amused and heartened. It’s so nice—so,  _so_  nice—to finally be able to say it, to share this piece of his life without fear of recrimination or accusation.

Bruce gets it, Steve can see that, and he’s so glad for the man’s calm understanding. He doesn’t look surprised when Steve tells him he hadn’t meant to leave bruises on Darcy that first night. Neither does he look judgmental when Steve admits that it was Darcy who wanted him to keep doing it, nor does he repeat his warnings that they have to stop leaving bruises on her. (And honestly, he doesn’t have to, and Steve’s glad Bruce knows that, that Bruce trusts him to remember that.) He just listens, and like Natasha, he listens well, smiling and laughing and sympathizing through the whole tale.

Steve has never been more grateful to know them both.

It takes over an hour to finish telling them everything, which is impressive and ridiculous at the same time, considering he doesn’t go into detail. But then again, he doesn’t just tell them what happened—he tells them his hopes and wants and wishes, his worries and fears and concerns. He tells them  _everything_ , and not once do they look impatient with him or need to be elsewhere, which is kind and thoughtful of them.

“Thanks,” he tells them when he’s run out of things to share. “For listening. You didn’t have to.”

“No, Steve,” Natasha says seriously, “thank  _you_. This is better than the crap Clint watches on TV.”

He snorts. “You’re welcome,” he replies dryly, but the laugh that follows ruins the deadpan tone he was going for.

“So what’s the plan?” Bruce asks curiously. “ _Did_  James cook breakfast for her this morning?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, not this morning. He wanted to, I think, but Darcy took off pretty fast after we showered.”

“Ooh, tell, tell, tell,” Natasha grins, leaning forward and placing her chin on her fist.

He smiles wryly. “It was just a shower,” he shrugs. “Nothing else happened.”

She kicks at the leg of his chair. “You’re no fun, Rogers.”

“I’m sure there are some people who would disagree,” Bruce grins, making Steve flush at the teasing. “But no, seriously, how small a gesture are we talking?”

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Natasha says solemnly in response to Bruce’s first statement, then smirks. “But yeah, what’s the plan here, Cap? Please don’t tell me you’re going to go with the cliché flowers and chocolates route James wants,” she adds, making a face.

Steve laughs. “No,” he admits. “I was thinking more along the lines of a massage.”

Natasha harrumphs. “Typical male,” she says exasperatedly. “Choosing a gratuitous task to perform that would surely lead to sex.”

Steve sighs. “We’d take her to dinner and a movie if I didn’t think she’d bolt on us.”

“He’s right,” Bruce nods. “Darcy’s a little commitment phobic, isn’t she?”

Natasha’s eyebrows rise. “Really?” she asks skeptically.

Steve blinks. “Yes?” he asks back. “I did mention that she said she wasn’t into the romantic stuff, didn’t I?”     

She purses her lips. “You ever consider that she’s like that because she knows she’s not your soulmate, and therefore shouldn’t expect you guys to put out that way?”

He frowns, bristling slightly at the look on her face and the tone she uses. “What? No, she wouldn’t—” He pauses, and rapidly goes over everything he knows about Darcy Lewis. “Fuck,” he groans, leaning into his hands. “She  _would_  think that, wouldn’t she?”

“I told you before,” Natasha sighs, clearly expressing her exasperation with his cluelessness, “you need to get your act together. Tell her outright how you feel about her. And don’t speak for James,” she tacks on. “Let him speak for himself.”

“You’re right,” Steve nods, getting up from his seat. “I should do that. Right now.”

Bruce smiles. “Finally.”

( _Indeed_ , Steve thinks as he heads out the door,  _finally_.)

*

He is by no means finished with his… his  _confession?_

Yes. Yes, this thing he’s doing? It’s a confession, an admittance of his sins against her. He still has more to reveal if he’s ever going to fulfill his promise of telling her everything, but the way she trembles in his arms, the way she tries her best not to let him know how his transgressions have hurt her…

God, he can’t not stop to comfort her when she’s hurting like this.

Darcy is kind, and compassionate, and brave and smart and amazing all around, and these traits are exaggerated when she tells him she still wants him, even after  _everything_  he’s disclosed. And he—being the brutish, fiendish monster that he is—wants to take her up on that offer immediately, wants to accept her gratifying welcome by kissing her again, by brushing his thumb over her nipple until it was hard and poking through her shirt and her bra, by moving his other hand down into her pants to toy with her asshole and cunt until she’s coming in his lap again, until he can show her how good he’ll be to her now, how he’ll take care of her and never hurt her and keep her blissful and sated.

He wants to strip her bare and take her and mark her every inch of her with his hands and mouth and spit and sweat and come, and it takes every scrap of willpower he has to deny that urge inside him, to remind himself of  _why_  he shouldn’t do that right now.

Because he’s supposed to do right by her now.

No, wait, that’s not it.

He  _wants_ to do right by her now. He wants to  _romance_  her, to take her on dates and cook her breakfast that Steve will whisk away from under his nose to bring to her while she’s in bed. He’ll buy a single flower from the park before then, put it on the breakfast tray in a vase the way he’d seen in one of those romantic movies the ladies indulge in from time to time, if only to see if she’ll let them buy her flowers again in the future. He wants to buy her gifts that make them think of her when they see it and bring her her favorite desserts to enjoy, either alone or with them or with whoever she wants to share them with.

He wants to own up to his and Steve's relationship with her, not because he wants the others to know about them, but because he wants to be able to  _do something_  to defend Darcy. He wants to protect her from Foster when the woman gets into that irrationally overprotective mood that makes her think it’s okay to violate Darcy’s privacy and trust. He wants to tell Stark to take down the Lewis Protocol, because Darcy’s life is her own and Stark’s almost as bad as Foster is when it comes to being overprotective. He wants… well, he doesn’t  _want_  to get  _hurt_ , but he’ll offer his cheek to Thor and tell him to get it over with if he really has to do it.

[He wants to make it up to her too, make up for his wrongdoings  _properly_ , earn her forgiveness and redeem himself, make it feel like he actually deserves the pardon she so easily bestowed on him. But that one, that one’s for him, just for him, for his incredibly  _selfish_  conscience.]

But more than that, he wants to  _be there_  for her, the way he hadn’t been there for her before. He wants to share in her happiness and her sadness, take her in his arms when she’s joyful or crying, listen to everything she feels like talking about and stay with her in silence when she doesn’t want to speak. He wants…

He wants to feel what Steve feels for her, wants the complete contentment that steals over his soulmate’s face when he has both of them in his reach and…

And he wants to fall in love. With her.

God, he wants to tell her all of that, wants it all to come tumbling out of his mouth, or maybe he wishes he can somehow share this bundle of thoughts with her, snap it from his mind into hers to preserve the essence of it, to let her see how much he really  _wants_  it all. But—

“Pardon the interruption, Miss Lewis, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS says a good twenty seconds into the hug he initiates, instead of the other wicked things he wants to do to her, “but Captain Rogers is at the door and wishes to enter. Would you allow this, Miss Lewis?”

Darcy exhales and pulls back to wipe her face again, but not before giving him one last squeeze and a kiss on the metal of his shoulder that makes a lump form in his throat. She smiles at him, looking pretty adorable even with the red nose, tinged cheeks and watery eyes [though that may have something to do with the fact that she looks happy and sweet instead of sad and pained]. She sniffles and takes another—clearly fortifying—breath, then looks up at the camera tucked in the corner to the east of her bed.

“Let him in, J, thank you.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis,” comes the reply as the door unlocks with a beep, letting Steve in.

“Hey,” his soulmate says as he eyes them carefully. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Darcy nods, reaching a hand out to him with a smile. “We were just talking.”

Steve looks relieved as he laces his fingers through hers. “You should know,” he tells them, a small smirk appearing on his face, “Jane called a meeting about you two. She apparently had no idea about me and Bucky, and was pretty enthused about the thought of you two getting together.”

He and Darcy both snort at the same time. “Ironic,” she mutters, and he nods, having thought the same thing. “What happened when she learned about you two?”

Steve sighs, losing the amused look as he sits down beside them and recounts what happened in the meeting. “I’m sorry,” he adds, looking to Darcy. “I know she’s your friend, but—”

“Don’t be,” she tells him, shifting so that she was straddling Steve’s left thigh too and leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Thank you,” she says softly, swallowing audibly after. “I… I don’t know why I can’t tell her on my own, but I’ve wanted her to stop bugging me for a long time. Thank you for standing up to her for me.”

“I’ll always stand up to people for you,” Steve replies earnestly, and [he feels jealous, jealous because of how easy it is for Steve to say things like that, jealous because of how] Darcy smiles at him, tears welling in her eyes once more. “If you let me, of course,” Steve tacks on belatedly, smiling back.

“Of course,” she echoes, her smile turning into a slight smirk. “I’ll tell you when it’s not cool to steal my battles.” He and Steve huff a laugh at how she says it. “So,” she hums, “been a while since either of you were here. In my room.”

He gives a pained smile at her eyebrow waggle, because the last time he’d been in here, he had taunted her about having the butt plug in her ass the whole day, asking her how she was going to deal with going to the bathroom to make her uncomfortable. Steve, too easily turned on by the mere suggestion of having sex with them, obviously reins his desire in, which is a surprise, considering that Steve always immediately accepts her invitation to pull her close and kiss her until she’s gasping for air.

“Before that,” Steve says, swallowing noisily, “I… have something I want to say. To you.”

Darcy’s eyebrows lift high on her forehead. “Oh-kay?” she drawls, leaning back so that she’s sitting on their knees, the only thing keeping her from falling off being the metal hand splayed over her back and the loose grip she has on his nape and Steve’s hand on her left arm and his big fingers entwined with her slim ones.

“Bucky and I were talking this morning,” Steve begins, and he feels his gut kick as he realizes what his soulmate was about to say. “And we’d like to—”

“Steve!” he hisses before the sentence can be finished. “Not now.”

Not now, yes, because it would look bad. Not now, because he’d just unloaded all that on Darcy and…

And he doesn’t want her to think he did it to make her agree to a date with them.

Both Steve and Darcy shoot him surprised looks. “What’s this about?” Darcy asks at the same time Steve says, “Why not?”

He clenches his jaw and moves his hand in comforting circles over her back, which had gone rigid when he told Steve to shut up. “Darcy and I talked about stuff today,” he answers Steve, then makes eye contact with Darcy, “and I… I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he tells her, “or think that what I told you was a ploy to get you to agree to… things.”

Much to his relief, the stiffness in her back loosens, and she moves her hand off the back of his neck to cup his jaw. “You think I can’t tell for myself then?” she asks glibly, making him realize how she might’ve interpreted his words.

“No, no, of course not,” he denies, exhaling as he mirrors her action and brushes his thumb over her cheek. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…”

“I know,” she says yet again, awareness in her tone, and he wonders how she can be so damn understanding right now. “I get it. But… please don’t… don’t  _hide_  things from me. Don’t do that. I can’t…” She purses her lips with a frustrated and uncomfortable look, but he gets it.

He does.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, nodding. “I won’t do that again. Steve,” he adds, slanting a look at him, “go on.”  _But carefully_ , he wants to add.  _Don’t freak her out. Don’t pressure her. Don’t screw this up the way I almost did. Please_.

“I—” Steve, thrown by the sudden interruption, is now clearly having second thoughts about saying what he wants to say. It makes him regret interrupting, makes him wish he hadn’t been so foolish as to think Darcy wouldn’t understand. Steve tries again, and this time manages to get his words out. “We,” Steve says, “we were talking this morning about how we’d like to…” Steve glances up at him for a moment, and he nods, giving him permission to continue. “We’d like to take you out sometime. On a date.”

Darcy visibly goes still in his arms, her face expressing the shock she’s feeling. “Wh-what?” she breathes after several long moments, following it up with a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?” That… stings, just a little, but he can’t blame her for doubting him, nor can he blame her for turning her incredulous gaze on him. “Tell me this is a joke.”

“It’s not,” he says quietly, watching her closely and wincing inwardly when anxiety slides upon her face. “Listen,” he urges her steadily, moving his hands over her back again to keep her in the present, to keep her grounded, “if you don’t want us to, then we won’t. We can keep doing what we’re doing, keep everything low profile. But sweetheart,” he adds, never taking his eyes off hers, “we  _want_  to.”

She looks stunned at first, staring at him like she can’t believe what she’d just heard. And then she repeats, “Tell me you’re joking.”

He’d prepared for that kind of response. He and Steve had  _anticipated_  that kind of response, had anticipated denial and rejection and…

And yet somehow, he hadn’t anticipated how much he would  _hurt_  to hear it. He feels like his throat has closed up, like she’d taken away his body’s reason to breathe. He feels like his heart just sank to his gut and like his gut just kicked his heart out of his body.

“We’re not,” Steve denies with a pained voice, sounding as wounded as he feels. “We… we understand if you don’t want to do that. But… Darcy, we had to ask,” he says earnestly. “We had to ask because… because just because we don’t have your words on our skin doesn’t mean you mean nothing to us.”

She flinches so hard she would’ve fallen if not for his hands on her back, and only then does he come to the conclusion that Steve had obviously already arrived at—Darcy thinks she doesn’t matter to them because she isn’t part of their bond.

“Sweetheart,” he says, moving his hands to hold her by the hips, his thumbs keeping a constant swirl of motion over her shirt, “don’t you know by now that this big lug—” he nods his head at Steve, “—is in love you?”

Darcy twitches and swallows, her wild eyes swinging to look at Steve, who deflates at the look she gives him. “I thought you knew,” he whispers, moving the hand he has on her arm down to grasp her hand with both of his, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “I… My God, I never said it to you, did I?” he asks, eyes falling shut in realization. He feels her tremble as Steve levels the most serious, sincere look he can give her. “I love you, Darcy,” he says, and she sucks in a breath and sways backward, denial in every line of her.

“But Ja— But Barnes,” she corrects, gasping. “You can’t— You’re soulma— I don’t—” She shakes her head and pulls back, and he lets go immediately, not wanting her to feel trapped. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this to you, I’m not gonna ruin you, I can’t, I don’t want that, I don’t—

Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t let go. “Hey, no, no, no, you’re not ruining us,” his soulmate murmurs urgently, following her up off the bed before pulling her gently into a hug. “Bucky and I are fine,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her hair that seems to lessen her desire to be released, before leaning back to look at her. “We’re good, we’re strong, we always have been and we always will be.”

He swallows, feeling his emotions swell up to lodge in his throat at the utter confidence in Steve’s words, like it’s a foregone conclusion that they’re going to be together.

 _‘Til the end of the line_.

“You’re right,” Steve continues, his hand moving up to cup the back of her neck and keep her gaze on him. “You’re right, me and him, we’re soulmates. We’ve got a bond no one can understand. It’s ours and ours alone. But that doesn’t mean we can’t form bonds with anyone else,” Steve adds before either he or Darcy can feel dread or hurt at what he’s saying to her. “It doesn’t mean we can’t love anyone else.”

He closes his eyes briefly when Darcy stops trying to squirm away upon hearing those words, promptly grateful that Steve had this, had the ability to speak his heart so plainly, so sincerely.

“Darcy, I found you when I was at my worst,” Steve carries on, licking his lips, his eyes watering slightly. “I’d just lost everything that got me out of bed in the mornings—the job that gave me purpose, the love of my life, the last friend I had who remembered  _me_ … You know what I was like, you remember what I was like,” he reminds her, nodding, and Darcy nods back, tears spilling down her cheeks again. “Darcy, you made me better,” he says softly. “You made everything in my life better. And you… you were lost, in a different way, but you were just as lost as I was, and I like to think we were lost together, that we weren’t alone even though we were so fucking lost—”

Darcy nods rapidly. “Yes. Yes, I know, Steve, I know,” Darcy gasps quietly, sniffling, and an expression appears on her face that reflects the one on Steve’s, and he realizes that Steve was right. Just because they were soulmates doesn’t mean they can’t form bonds with other people, and this, right here, is something that  _he_  can’t touch, is a  _bond_  Steve has with someone else that  _he cannot touch_ , or even  _understand_ , not really.

“How can I not love you for everything you’ve done for me?” Steve rasps, and the tension in the room snaps and eases at the same time, relief blowing through the three of them as Darcy sobs and yanks Steve into a kiss, as Steve wraps his arms around her and kisses her back just as fiercely, as  _he_  relaxes and lets his eyes fall shut, because dear god, that could’ve gotten ugly.

“I love you,” Steve repeats when they part for air, peppering kisses over her cheek and temple and forehead until Darcy leans down to bury her face against his chest, her arms gripping tight around him, nails noticeably digging into his shoulders. “I’m  _in_  love with you. I’ll say it every day, sweetheart. Won’t make the mistake of  _thinking_  you already know, I’ll  _make sure_  you know, without a doubt, that  _I. love. you_.”

He meets Steve’s relieved gaze over her head and nods his approval and support, but remains seated on the bed to allow them this time together. If he could, he would’ve left to give them privacy, but he doesn’t want to give Darcy the wrong impression, doesn’t want her to think that it’s just Steve who wants this, or that he’s still doing things just for Steve.

“Steve…” Darcy whispers, hands sliding down his back and under his arms and up his chest to push up and look at Steve, who moves his hands to her face to brush the tears off her cheeks. “Steve, I—” A strangled sound escapes her, her jaw working, her expression slowly turning to frustration.

It doesn’t take either of them long to understand what she’s trying to say.

“I know,” Steve tells her, smiling and nodding at her. “I know you do.”

Darcy sags into him, obviously relieved. “I’m sorry,” she says shakily, a small whine escaping her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I can’t say it—”

“It’s okay,” Steve assures her. “It’s okay, I know, it’s okay—”

“It’ll come when it comes,” he says to her quietly, and Darcy jerks back, looking like she forgot he’s still there as she gives him a guilty, deer-in-the-headlights expression. He smiles, trying to convey that he’s not mad or upset at their exchange. “Trust me,” he adds, finally rising to step closer to her, growing more confident in reaching out when she doesn’t shy away. “It took me a while to tell him I still love him,” he shares while twirling a few strands of her hair through the fingers of his right hand, “even though he’s been sayin’ it to me pretty much since I got back.”

“Mm, made me wait months, the jerk,” Steve nods, leveling a small grin at him before turning his eyes back to the woman in his arms. “I can be patient, sweetheart,” he says, meeting her gaze, “you know that.”

“I know,” she replies softly, her body relaxing gradually until she’s loose-limbed and swaying slightly, fatigue stealing over her face. Understandable, given the… damn, has it really only been two hours since they stepped into her room? It feels like… well, like decades have passed them by already. Even he feels a little wrung out, something that doesn’t even happen when he’s training, unless he’s been at it for a really long time.

 _She needs to rest now_ , he thinks, sliding his hand away from her hair and rubbing up and down her arm gently. “C’mon, darling girl, let’s get you—” He stops talking and goes still when her startled eyes snap to him again, and only then realizes what he’d called her. “I… Sorry, that was—” he says, the words tripping both in his mind and on his tongue. “I didn’t mean to call you that?” He almost cringes at the uncertainty in his voice, not having meant to make himself sound so small.

“I like it,” she says, oddly calm at the moment, though her eyes are bright and amused.

“You’ve called her that before too,” Steve tacks on, immediately sending him on a memory hunt for those specific instances. And when he finds them, he’s not surprised that the word had slipped out while he was fucking her. He’s just surprised the word came out at all.

 _She likes it though_ , he thinks as he watches her watch him back, and yeah, he thinks he likes that he’s got a new name for her, one that Steve didn’t come up with for her and doesn’t tie in to his past opinion of her. He wants to call her that again, to see how she reacts to it when he says it like—

“C’mere, darlin’,” comes out of his mouth without permission, and heat pools in his gut when she moves into his arms with an entranced air, tiptoeing to kiss him before he can even realize he’s leaning down to meet her halfway.

 _God, how?_  he thinks languidly as he inhales her scent, feeling himself relax at her easy acceptance of his touch. However, the urge to spread her on the bed and  _touch her_ is promptly muted by the hint of her tears, reminding him that he needs to let her know they’re serious about dating her more than he needs to lose himself in her softness.

Reluctantly pulling away from her kiss, he slips his hand up to cup her nape as he moves his lips to her forehead. “Let’s get you into bed,” he says. “You’ve had a big day. I bet you’re tired.”

“It’s only lunchtime,” she reminds him, and even though he’d practically  _just_  thought it, he still feels shocked to realize it again.

How could so much have happened in such a short amount of time?

“We can have lunch after a nap,” Steve replies, a suggestive undertone audible in his voice.

A conflicted look twists the semi-serene expression on Darcy’s face, and he realizes that she isn’t ready for more than what they already have.

“We can eat here,” he tells her before pressing another kiss to her forehead to hide the warning gaze he shoots Steve. “Or we can eat in our room. Or wherever you want.” He leans back and smiles down at her. “I’ll cook.”

She smiles, relaxing. “I… sure,” she nods, glancing around her room. “Here is fine?”

“Here is fine,” he and Steve agree.

Darcy grins, looking amused. “Well then,” she says, her hands slipping down to tuck her fingers into his back pockets and  _grope_  both his ass cheeks, albeit hesitantly so. “Put me to bed, Sergeant Barnes.”

Desire kicks him in the gut again, his mind leaping straight to the gutter at the sound of his former title on her lips, but he wrangles his lust down even as he picks her up, nodding at Steve to join them as he knee-walks over the mattress. “Save the funny business for later, Miss Lewis,” he chuckles, laying her down carefully in the middle of the bed. “You need to rest.”

“And if I don’t?” she asks, her confidence returning now that they’re edging into familiar territory, and so many responses to that question spring to mind that he honestly cannot choose which one to go with.

“Patience, Darcy,” Steve rumbles, leaning in to drag his nose up her shoulder before giving her cheek a quick peck. “Sleep, then lunch.”

He and Darcy sigh—him in relief, because Steve could’ve easily said something to rile her up and she’d never go to sleep then, and her in fond exasperation. “Fine,” she says, and they slot themselves into place, Darcy on his right (away from the metal arm) and Steve spooned against her back.

“Is this okay?” he asks for the second time that day.

“Yeah,” she replies again, smiling at him, “it is.”

(They sleep until dinnertime; it’s the best damn sleep he’s had to date.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IF IT SUCKS, I'M MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE WRITING ROMANCE IN PORN. (CRAP, THAT KINDA SAYS A LOT ABOUT ME, DOESN'T IT?)
> 
> I WILL AIM FOR MORE PORN NEXT CHAPTER, IF YOU WANT IT. (Well, actually, that'll probably be my birthday present to myself, so porny all the way, methinks.)
> 
> But no, seriously, tell me what you think about this chapter, because ugh, romance is hard and I'm worrying that I fucked this relationship up more than I made it better.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor (and everyone else too, actually) makes a guest appearance in the middle of Steve, Bucky and Darcy cooking and eating dinner. Oh, and there's a bit of sharing time between the three of them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO PORN. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
> 
> Sorry everybody, but the porn just didn't fit into this chapter. UGH. But next chapter. Definitely porny.
> 
> And my apologies for taking almost a month to post. RL got in the way, then I got sick, and do you know how hard it is to write when your body feels so weak and your mind, as a result, is uninspired and unmotivated? Ugh. So much for birthday porn. (That suddenly didn't sound right, but you know what I mean. =P)
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the overwhelming response over the previous chapter. I was so surprised that you guys loved it so much, and shit, I don't know if this will match up to that. You guys have seriously spoiled me and freaked me out simultaneously, because well, how the fuck do I live up to the expectations you guys seem to have? Gah, complex, fuck.
> 
> But ugh, I've gotten this far, and you all seem to enjoy what I'm posting, so I'm gonna do my all to meet and deliver my best work. (You know, when I put the word 'epic' in the title, I had NOT imagined that it would be, like, epic-saga epic. Jesus, this thing's multiplying like fish and bread, ugh.)
> 
> Anyway, on with the plot! =D

It takes Darcy a while to open up to them. She’s used to getting sex and only sex from them, so it doesn’t surprise him that the first few times they try to ask about her family, she answers vaguely, cracks a joke to misdirect and tricks Steve into making out with her. It’s the first time he sees her potential to become a great liar, and he doesn’t like it.

Neither does Steve, when he finally realizes he’s been duped.

“You’re a wily one,” Steve sighs, shaking his head and smiling fondly.

Darcy visibly relaxes, looking relieved that he isn’t mad at her. “Wile E. Coyote,” she nods, “that’s me.” It’s obvious that they don’t understand what she’s going on about, so she asks JARVIS to cue up cartoons about a coyote chasing an oversized roadrunner. He gets so caught up in the cartoon—and in reassuring her that the ridiculous, physics-defying falls the coyote takes from cliffs aren't going to trigger a flashback—that it takes him ten minutes to realize she’s done it again.

He sighs, realizing that this is gonna be harder than either he or Steve thought. “Please,” he says, affecting a mock pained voice, which really isn’t that hard to do considering that he’s more than a little hurt that she doesn’t seem to want to share these things with them, “stop it. This is killin’ me.” Steve grunts in agreement, falling back onto her mattress and putting an arm over his eyes.

“What?” Darcy asks, sounding insulted, but the smile on her face tells him she’s enjoying this. “You don’t like Wile E. and Road Runner? But they’re my favorite couple ever,” she pouts.

“ _They’re_ your favorite couple ever?” he asks, leaping for the opportunity to learn more about her before it can slip past him.

“Well,” Darcy purses her lips in thought, “I do hold Tom and Jerry in high esteem.”

Steve raises his arm to slant a glance at her. “Who’s Tom and Jerry?” Steve makes the mistake of asking, and it leads to her showing them a few skits of a cat and a mouse chasing each other around, much like that coyote and roadrunner did.

“You like slapstick comedies,” he eventually says.

Darcy shrugs. “Not _just_ slapstick comedies,” she replies. “It’s just one of the first things I watched on TV as a kid.”

He nearly smiles. “What else did you watch?” he asks, and to his delight, Darcy starts talking about her favorite shows growing up, explaining why she liked them and often having JARVIS show them a few examples. She mentions her parents and a cousin briefly at one point, but he doesn’t press for more details about them, knowing that this isn’t the right time to pry into her family life, considering how she’d redirected the topic of them earlier.

(And honestly, he’s read her file. He knows why she doesn’t want to talk about her family, and he gets it.)

(He’s an orphan too.)

(So is Steve.)

“God, how have you not stumbled across them yet?” she asks suddenly, looking perturbed. “This is like Pop Culture 101.”

“We’ve seen them,” Steve says almost defensively. “It’s everywhere on the Internet, really. On memes and stuff.”

“Oh my god,” Darcy cries to the ceiling dramatically. “JARVIS, please, please, _please_ add—” And she rattles off a list of things she thinks they need to add to their list, like the Simpsons and Flintstones and Scooby-Doo and Popeye. His attention splinters when he hears her say “Looney Tunes”, his mind flashing rapidly over several recollections of him and Steve watching motion pictures together.

“As you wish, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS replies, and his focus quickly returns to the present. “Also, Miss Potts wishes to know whether you would vote for Persian or Vietnamese for dinner.”

Darcy squeaks. “We missed lunch!” she huffs, pouting. “And I was looking forward to seeing you cook, too.”

He smiles. “JARVIS,” he says, “please tell the others that the three of us won’t be joinin’ them for dinner tonight.”

“As you wish, sir.”

He aims his smile at her and slides his hand up and down Darcy’s side to ease the sudden tension that seeps into her. He presumes she thinks he’s about to propose that they’re taking her out for dinner, and is careful not to make her feel trapped when he says, “You got something specific you wanna eat, darlin’, or are you okay with me makin’ spaghetti?”

She blinks, surprised, then relaxes and beams at him. “Spaghetti’s good,” she nods, shifting to lean up and kiss him enthusiastically.

(He makes a mental note to cook for her often, especially if it gets him this kind of response.)

*

Darcy’s grateful when Barnes tugs her straight into the empty kitchen, because it gives her a reason to avoid Jane, who’s heading their way with a box of takeout in hand. Steve doesn’t follow them in immediately, and her gut swoops down and back up at the thought of him playing bodyguard outside the door to keep Jane from coming in. Barnes pulls the other doors shut—waving when Thor calls his name amicably—before moving back to her, hand sliding up her arm comfortingly.

“Okay there, doll?” he asks, then winces minutely, and for some reason (which, to be honest, was probably to avoid giving him a detailed answer to that question, but she’s not even gonna think about that more than she accidentally already has), Darcy finally realizes that the random wincing and face-scrunching he does isn’t random at all.

“I’m okay,” she says, thinking twice and straining to hear past the doors for signs of someone coming in before deciding to risk stepping close and place her right hand on his left cheek. “And call me anything you want,” she tells him, looking him in the eye. “I’ll take them as a compliment.”

Barnes swallows and shakes his head, tugging her close and sliding his right arm around her waist. “Calling you that reminds me of… _before_ ,” he admits quietly as his metal fingers brush over her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t like it.”

Darcy swallows down the small _awwww_ that builds in the back of her throat, because although the way he says it is sweet and touching, the repentant look in his eye makes her feel like this isn’t the right moment to let that little sound loose, no matter how strong the urge to do so.

She plasters a smile on her face instead, and surprisingly doesn’t have to fish around too long for a reply. “If you don't like it,” she tells him, “then you don't have to use it. But honestly, I don't take offense, okay? It's… it's cute. Vintage, even.” She winks at him, but his expression doesn’t change, even as he moves his own hand to her cheek.

“Yes, you do,” he murmurs, sounding sad. “It bothers you just as much as it does me. For the same reasons too, I bet.” She swallows guiltily and drops the smile as she looks down. “I’m sorry.”

She snaps her head back up and frowns at him. “Stop apologizing,” she says softly. “I know why you thought of me that way. You were right to.”

“No, I wasn’t,” he disagrees immediately. “There’s no excuse for how I treated you, and I’m gonna carry that for the re—”

He stops abruptly, and Darcy hears the quiet tapping against the door just as he jerks away from her, rounding the island counter quickly as the door opens to admit Steve and Thor. To her relief, Jane is nowhere to be seen.

“Hello, Lady Darcy! James,” Thor greets with a bright smile as she hurriedly adapts to the interruption. “Forgive me for intruding on your dinner plans, but I didn’t see you this afternoon, and I feel it would be remiss of me should I fail to give you your regular dose of sugar.”

Darcy grins wickedly as both Steve makes a choking sound and James coughs to hide his laughter. “Aw, come to mama then, boo,” she coos, making grabby hands at Thor, who chuckles as he sweeps her up into a hug.

“Jane informed me that you spent time with James today,” he says as he sets her back on her feet. “Might I ask how it went?”

See, this is one of the things she really likes about Thor. Unlike Jane or Erik or the rest of her ‘housemates’, Thor speaks to her with a tactful frankness that she’s appreciated since before the whole mess with _Them_ , and she’s oh so grateful that he still does that with her. She thinks that he might be used to dealing with… with people like her, because Thor, unlike Jane, doesn’t press her for details too much, doesn’t treat her like she has a debilitating illness that renders her incapable of living her own damn life.

“It was okay,” she shrugs, feigning nonchalance as she tamps down the memory of the kiss they shared in the café. “We only went for a cup of coffee, is all.”

Thor, bless him, doesn’t ask for more other than a general, “And you enjoyed yourself?”

“I did,” she nods again.

“Good,” he replies, exuding satisfaction at her report. “And you are feeling well?” he asks simply. These are, perhaps, one of Darcy’s favorite words, primarily because they are the only reference Thor really makes to… her _ordeal_. What’s better is that he never presses for more once he asks, even when Darcy blatantly lies to his face. (Which, okay, only happened the one time, because she felt too guilty for lying and immediately tried to make it up to him, which he had let her do. Seriously, Thor is her favorite Avenger.)

“Super well,” she nods, smiling tremulously. “Thanks, Thor.”

“Of course, little one,” Thor grins, and Darcy squeaks and slaps his arm, mortified that he’d said the dreaded nickname where Steve and Barnes can hear it. She starts to strongly reconsider that whole ‘Thor is her favorite Avenger’ thing.

“No! Bad Thor!” she growls, and then squeals and jumps back to hide behind Steve when Thor wiggles his fingers along her ribs, hitting her right on her ticklish spot. “Damn it, Thor!” she groans in chagrin. “Don’t make me get my taser, big guy!” she threatens, because they’ve learned (by accident, she swears!) that shocking Thor when he has his powers only resulted in him laughing hysterically. It was both insulting and cute, the former because she found out that she hadn’t taken down the god of thunder after all (just the mortal, powerless version of him) and the latter because getting Thor to laugh via taser is like watching an adorable dog thump his leg uncontrollably while it had its sweet spot scratched.

Thor reflexively flinches and laughs out loud, holding his hands up at the warning. “I believe this is my cue to skedaddle,” he says, and a loud ‘HA!’ emanates from the pantry, which is when Darcy realizes that Barnes has disappeared from sight. “I shall leave you in the good hands of our friends, Lady Darcy,” he adds with a smile and a nod at Steve, before pulling her up into another hug and impertinently scratching his fingers at her ribs, making her squeal and struggle to free herself.

“THOR, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” she roars, trying and failing to tickle him back, and Thor barks a laugh and, after setting her down carefully, ducks the swipe of her arm while lunging out the door. “I KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP, THOR!” she calls out while racing after him, though she stops at the doorway to simply poke her head out into the hall when she remembers why she’s in the kitchen in the first place. “DON’T THINK I WON’T TAKE REVENGE FOR THIS!”

“THEN I SHAN’T SLEEP WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME!” Thor booms as the elevator doors close to take him away.

Darcy blinks, then starts to guffaw, because that poor unfortunate soul clearly has no idea that she has JARVIS on her side. And even if he remembers to activate his privacy protocols (and as far as she can tell, he seems to be the only one who _doesn’t_ make use of it), she knows she can wrangle Clint—and possibly even Natasha, if she asks really nicely—to help track him down.

She flushes when she turns back into the kitchen and finds Steve grinning at her with no small amount of amusement. “You’re a- _dorable_ ,” he tells her, mirth in his voice, and Darcy groans in embarrassment. _This_ is why she’d kept her dorkiest side confined to the lab.

“Shut up,” she replies.

“No,” Barnes calls out from inside the pantry. “That was real cute, d-arcy,” he stutters, and Darcy instantly recalls the conversation they’d had just before Steve and Thor came in.

 _You know what they say about habits_ , she thinks to herself, smiling disparagingly as she realizes what he’d almost called her.

“The cutest,” Steve agrees, pulling her closer and planting a quick kiss to her forehead. “Come on,” he says, gently guiding her to the pantry, “lets help Bucky pick up the stuff he needs for a spaghetti.”

That invitation turns out to be a good thing, because as it turns out, Barnes had planned to make spaghetti, and _only_ spaghetti, which Darcy thinks would’ve been a complete tragedy. “Garlic bread,” she says firmly as she starts hunting for what she needs. “Definitely garlic bread.” And after bemoaning the pantry’s lack of a baguette, Darcy adds three loaves of Italian bread, some parsley, salt and pepper, another slab of butter and two more cloves of garlic to Barnes’s little basket of ingredients.

“I hate to break it to ya, darlin’,” Barnes says, “but I don’t know how to make that.”

“I do,” she shrugs.

Steve looks delighted. “You’re cooking too?”

“It’s not so much _cooking_ as it is mixing garlic and parsley into butter and toasting the bread,” she says wryly.

“Hey, I can help with that!” he tells her, looking even more pleased, if that was possible.

“Steve can’t cook,” Barnes tells her with a smirk as they exit the pantry. “He can prepare ingredients like one of those chef people on TV, and he’s not bad when he cooks over an open fire, but anythin’ that requires a pot or a pan on a stove or oven never turns out well for him.” He shakes his head. “It was worse before the serum—he couldn’t prepare _anythin’_ edible back then.”

“I _told_ you,” Steve sighs with the air of someone who’s had the same conversation many times already, “I’m _cursed_ ,” and the way he says it makes Darcy giggle into her palm.

“Well, I’ll make sure to take over the toasting process, just to be safe,” she teases.

Steve pouts at her, but admits, “Yeah, that would probably be for the best.”

She smiles at that and settles in alongside them at the island counter, and later, she’ll realize that their rapport in the kitchen mirrors the rapport they have in the bedroom, in that she and Barnes share Steve with each other. As Darcy hunts for a mortar and pestle to grind the garlic with, Barnes puts Steve to work dicing garlic and onions and defrosting a pack of ground beef in the microwave, while Barnes himself gets busy squashing tomatoes into paste. Once Steve’s done with that, he helps Darcy slice the bread while she mixes the garlic butter.

It’s surprisingly fun to spend time with them outside their room, and for the first time since she met them both, Darcy hears stories about their childhood, something not even Steve had talked about in the entire time she’s known him. And yes, she understands why Steve had never spoken to her about this before—he’d just been rejected by his soulmate back then, so _of course_ he wouldn’t want to talk about the person who’d broken his heart. Now though, he and Barnes match each other story for story, the two of them sinking into a competition to reveal the other’s most embarrassing moments.

And despite knowing that they’re doing this to get her to share something about herself too, Darcy finds herself favoring the story of how they first met above everything else they tell her, unable to not smile at the idea of Barnes, all of ten years old, coming to the rescue of a scrappy eight-year-old Steve.

When butter starts to fry in a saucepan, Darcy takes a deep breath and nearly moans at the smell that’s starting to permeate the air. Christ, but the last time she smelled butter cooking in the air was… okay, _technically_ last week, when she microwaved some popcorn to snack on while watching a movie, after Jane ran out of things for her to do. It’s when the garlic and onions joined the buttery scent that the memories of her father surfaced, and she smiles nostalgically as the sounds and smells took her back to a time when she still had parents.

“You all right there, sweetheart?”

She blinks the memories away and wrangles up a smile for Steve, who’s almost done buttering the loaf of bread. “I’m good,” she replies, going back to her task of preheating the oven.

“You looked like you were worlds away,” Barnes tells her, briefly glancing in her direction, and Darcy frowns, wondering why he was being obvious about fishing for information.

“You’re usually much more subtle than that,” she comments, trying to redirect the conversation.

He shrugs and says, “I want you to share things because you want to share them, not because I tricked you into sharin’ them.”

She blinks in surprise at the honesty she hears in his voice and finds that she has nothing to say to that. Well okay, she can think of several things to say, but she’s worried that she’ll come off as bitchy and rude, which he doesn’t deserve. So she settles for a general “Oh,” as a reply, despite how incredibly lame and cliché it was, and in the silence that follows, Darcy finds herself wishing that he’d tricked her into sharing instead.

“I don’t know where I learned how to cook.” Again, she blinks in surprise, and then takes in the way Steve goes still behind Barnes’s back, frozen in the act of buttering the last piece of bread. The way his eyes widen and mouth drops open at the declaration tells her that Barnes had never spoken to him about this before. “I have this stockpile of recipes in my head, but I have no idea when or where I learned them, or if I even _did_ learn them.”

The bread is crushed and completely pulverized in Steve’s hand, and Darcy has the brief thought of _that’s okay, we have enough to feed all of us already_ before she realizes what Barnes’s words mean. _Them_. _They_ did that to him. Possibly.

Darcy sucks in a breath and unconsciously holds it in as she grips the counter tightly, but it’s not panic that floods her veins this time.

It’s _hate_.

It’s _fury_.

It’s _violence_.

She’s known, intellectually speaking, that Barnes had suffered far worse under _Their_ hands than she had, but somehow, it’s only here and now that that fact _really_ hits her. They literally took _everything_ from him—everything that made up Bucky Barnes—and turned him into something else. What they did to her was _nothing_ compared to what they did to him.

“Hey.” Large hands cup and tilt her face up gently, and Darcy meets Ja— Barnes’s worried gaze. “Breathe.” She exhales and breathes in again, not even noticing when she grasps his wrists and holds on tight, as if the touch would help her untangle herself from the roiling mass of loathing and venomous thoughts yanking at her attention. “I’m sorry,” he says as Steve comes up beside him, cleaning his hands on a dishrag before reaching up to touch her knee and her back. “I didn’t mean to do that to you.”

 _Do that…?_ She might’ve snorted when she realized he thought she was having a panic attack—or about to have one, since she wasn’t hyperventilating—had she been in a lighter mood. “I’m okay,” she replies, but that probably doesn’t help since she speaks through gritted teeth.

“Breathe,” Steve reminds her, and she obeys, sniffling as she sucks in air.

“I hate them,” she says, and Steve’s gaze softens in understanding.

“Me too,” he replies.

“Me three,” Barnes mutters.

The door to the dining room suddenly opens, and Darcy would later realize that although she startles and Barnes quickly moves his hands to her shoulders, none of them really bothered to move away from each other.

“Well,” Tony says as he pauses, plates in either hand, “this is cozy.”

“Panic attack,” she choruses with Steve and Barnes, and she hides her smile by tucking her head down and letting her hair cover her face, her bad mood lifting at the thought of how in sync the three of them suddenly are.

“Aw, kid,” Tony offers sympathetically, though he moves towards the dishwasher instead of approaching her. “I could hook you up if you want. I keep telling ya, Mary Jane can be a very good friend if you let her in.”

This, as usual, draws a huff of laughter from her. “Thanks, Tony, but my answer to that is still ‘no’.”

“Mary Jane?” Steve asks in a low tone, a frown on his face.

“Another name for marijuana,” she replies, and Steve actually jerks back to growl at Tony, the hand he has on her knee twitching.

“Illegal drugs, Tony, really? That’s your solution?”

Tony raises his eyebrow at Steve. “Chill out, Cap,” he says, “it’s not completely illegal anymore.”

“What’s not illegal anymore?” Pepper asks, sweeping into the room with a glass in either hand. “And,” she adds, sniffing their air, “what smells so good?”

“Marijuana,” Tony answers as Darcy replies, “Spaghetti. Spaghetti is what smells so good.”

Pepper eyes the four of them as the others troop in with their own plates and glasses. “Marijuana has been legalized for medical use in twenty-three states, including New York so long as it is not smoked,” she tells Steve, and from behind her, Bruce’s eyebrows rise at the topic he literally walks into. “And why did we just have takeout when there’s spaghetti cooking in here? And is that garlic bread?” She makes an affronted noise. “I feel cheated.”

“Sorry, Pepper. I promised this little lady there I’d cook for her sometime, and now seemed like a good time to do it,” Barnes says, his hand brushing Darcy’s elbow as he passes her by to return to his position in front of the stove.

Tony blatantly gawks at him. “ _You’re_ cooking? I thought it was Lewis! Wait, you can _cook?”_

“Apparently,” comes the reply, accompanied by a casual shrug.

“That’s sexist,” Darcy scowls.

Steve makes a small sound, low enough that Darcy seems to be the only who hears it. “He can cook,” Steve says, his calm voice not at all matching the injured expression on his face. “He used to cook for the two of us all the time.” His big hand squeezes at Darcy’s knee, brief and gentle, and Barnes’s motions stutter slightly when he adds, “Spaghetti was a rare treat, but he made it well.”

This time, Darcy lets loose the small “Aw,” that builds from the base of her throat, and she suddenly wishes that they were alone in the room, because the urge to kiss the both of them washes through her intensely, and she mourns the fact that she can’t just lean up and do it because the others would see her do it.

(For another moment, she actually starts considering the option of telling everyone what’s the what, if only so she could kiss them whenever she wanted.)

*

It doesn’t take long for the others to rinse their dishes and pile them in the dishwasher, and Steve’s grateful they don’t linger for too long, because the need to hold Bucky close strums through him over and over and doesn’t abate until Steve has him in his arms. Behind him, Darcy quietly asks JARVIS to activate their privacy protocols, and he’s grateful for that too, not wanting anyone else to have access to this moment.

“Christ, Bucky,” he rumbles lowly, nearly choking on the emotions bubbling up his throat. He’d known that there were still aspects of his life that Bucky couldn’t slot into chronological place, but the cooking… it should’ve been one of the things that he could easily remember.

“Sorry, Steve,” Bucky replies so quietly that Steve’s sure Darcy doesn’t hear it.

“Don’t be,” he says, pressing a kiss to his soulmate’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

They finally move apart when the oven dings to let them know it’s hot enough, and only then does Steve notice he’s stepped away from Darcy without a second thought and realize how she might’ve seen that as him abandoning her for Bucky again. Thankfully, Darcy is still there, and she doesn’t look like she saw his abrupt departure from her side as him leaving her once more. He’s more than a little relieved to see the glint of understanding in her eyes.

Clearing his throat, Bucky turns back to the stove and says, “You should put the bread in now,” in an obvious attempt to sweep the incident under the proverbial rug and leave it there.

But Steve can’t. He can’t leave it like that, not _this_. It hurts to know that Bucky can’t remember how he’d learned to cook, because those were memories that involved both their mothers. Sarah Rogers had despaired of her son’s inability to so much as boil an egg, and not even Steve’s pride could make him turn away Bucky’s help once she got sick. It was only after his mother died that Steve learned it was his soulmate, and not Mrs. Barnes, who had been cooking the meals he brought over every day.

Bucky had learned to cook for him and his mother. Even if he wasn’t his soulmate, Steve owed him a debt for that kindness alone, and he couldn’t let Bucky go on thinking that it was HYDRA who put those lessons in his head.

“Your mom taught you how to cook,” he tells Bucky, who sucks in a breath and freezes in place. “She told me herself, said you were a better student then your sister. And you had no intention of telling me, but then we moved in together and I caught you at it. You made a list of the things you knew how to cook and you promised me you’d do every single dish, even though money was a bit tight and we didn’t always have enough to buy the stuff your folks could afford.”

His grip on the spoon loosening, Bucky turns around with wide, watery eyes. “Fuck, Steve, I remember that,” he says with a trembling voice, and Steve nearly leans against the island counter in relief. “I… I made the list… I was remembering the list, and there were hands, and a voice, and…” He shakes his head and looks stricken. “It was my _mamma_. All this time, I thought…”

“You thought that it was _them_ ,” Darcy murmurs, abruptly reminding them of her presence. Steve turns to look at her, finds her looking at them with her hands resting on top of the now-wrapped bread, and feels his chest tighten at the near-blank expression on her face. “You thought that someone had taught you, and _that_ someone was one of _them_.”

That’s when he remembers how sensitive Darcy is around the mere concept of HYDRA, and promptly wants to bash himself in the head for putting her in the hyperaware state she falls into when her former captors are mentioned.

“Fuck,” Bucky repeats, pressing his right hand to his forehead. “I really thought…”

Steve wavers, torn between going to Bucky or Darcy first, and for the first time realizes how difficult it can be to be in a relationship with two people he loves equally, if not identically. In the end, he reaches for Bucky and tugs him over to Darcy so he can gather them both up in a tight embrace, unable to put one over the other like that.

To his relief, they both hug him back.

“Barnes?” Darcy says a few moments later.

“Mm?”

“You left the stove on.”

“Not my fault,” Bucky reminds her, but gives them both one last squeeze before pulling back to retake his position. “Steve, the bread.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he grumbles, then winks at a weakly smiling Darcy as he takes the bread and puts it in the oven.

They hit a few bumps as they attempt to return to that light and positive atmosphere they’d had before… all _that_ , but as the dual smells of buttered bread and spaghetti waft through the air, they finally manage it thanks to Darcy. She hesitantly volunteers the story of how she first received cooking lessons from her mother, after she nearly burnt their kitchen down trying to make her father what turned out to be a disastrous birthday breakfast—a tidbit about her that Steve finds both interesting and adorable. Bucky laughs when she admits that until her father took over her cooking lessons, her mother had only worsened her initial ineptitude in the kitchen.

“That’s fine, darlin’,” he says with a wide grin and a sly look at Steve. “I’m pretty sure nothin’ you did coulda matched our Steven’s efforts in the kitchen. At least you didn’t need super-soldier serum to get better at it.”

Steve throws the nearest dishrag at him for that, and it would’ve gone sailing into the pasta draining in the colander in the sink if Darcy hadn’t reached out quickly to catch it.

“Nice reflexes,” Bucky tells her, eyebrows raised, and Steve belatedly realizes that he’s got the same surprised look on his face.

Darcy shrugs and waves the dishrag triumphantly. “I had to get lucky sometime,” she grins, clearly delighted at her luck as she takes the rag and uses it to clean up the mess they’d left on the island counter. “I’m usually pretty uncoordinated. Except in games,” she amends quickly. “My hand-eye coordination is _superb_ when I’m playing.”

“Yeah, we know,” Bucky grins back, giving her a lewd eyebrow waggle that has Darcy snorting a laugh and Steve smacking a hand over his face to hide his own amused reaction.

“Perv,” he hears her says fondly. “Steve,” she adds, puckering her lips in the direction of the mess they left on the counter, “help a girl clean up, yeah?”

“Anything for a gal like you,” Steve flirts.

“Oh, you,” Darcy plays along, pressing her right hand over her heart while her left swings the rag at him. Bucky keeps smiling at them, and the absolutely relaxed expression he wears has Steve feeling elated.

They make quick work of the mess they’d left, and then Darcy has him pull out dishware for them to use while she raids the wine cabinet, going so far as to get consult JARVIS to find the least expensive bottle on the racks. “Don’t tell me how much it costs!” she says before JARVIS could reveal the bottle’s price tag. “I’m happy to think that this is a ten-dollar knock off instead of however much Tony spent.”

Bucky snorts, but (presumably) like Steve, he chooses not to mention how much cheap wine used to cost ‘back in the day’. “Here, taste this for me, would you?” he says instead, scooping a hint of the sauce onto a clean spoon after she pours the wine into three glasses and leaves them on the counter to breathe.

An audible, if slightly incoherent noise escapes Darcy as she watches him blow on the red-tipped spoon before offering it to her, and as always, Steve has to bite his tongue before he ruins the moment by laughing, his declining mood lifting once more. He never fails to be amused and giddy whenever he sees the two of them slip into these unwittingly romantic moments, and belatedly, he realizes that this—saving the light mood they’ve been basking in—was Bucky’s goal all along.

“Ohmygod,” Darcy hums once the sauce hits her taste buds, her eyes brightening in surprise. “That’s really good.”

He’s totally not surprised when Bucky asks, “Is it?” and bends down slightly to dip his tongue past her lips, as if trying to taste the sauce from _her_. “Mm,” he hums as he pulls back. “Steve, what do you think?”

Chuckling at the poor excuse of an invitation, Steve presses himself against her back, pushing her closer to Bucky as he slides his hand up to her neck and pushes his thumb against the side of her chin, gently turning her head so he can kiss her. Darcy gasps and goes slack between them, her mouth opening immediately for him, and the way she reacts has desire rushing through him. His mind floods with the memory of their first time together—of him taking her on the island counter—before he remembers the fantasy he has of watching her and Bucky having sex in this very room, and he groans, fighting to recall why it was a bad idea to do that right now.

 _It’s too early in the evening_ , he reasons. _Everyone’s awake and fully capable of coming to the kitchen at any point in the near future. Darcy doesn’t want anyone to know_.

 _She hasn’t agreed to date us yet_.

The last thought sobers him, and he moves his lips off hers, trying not to lose himself to the near-quiet pants she’s making or the way she feels against him. Belatedly, he remembers why he started kissing her in the first place.

“That’s really good, Buck,” he manages to say in a steady voice. Darcy shudders and stretches back up on her toes, her hips pushing against Bucky’s as she leans back and presents her slightly parted lips to him once more, and, fuck, but how can he possibly refuse such a gift? He uses the light grip he has on her neck to angle her face up more, drawing a small whimper from her that sends delicious tingles through every nerve in his body.

The oven _dings!_

Darcy jerks and pulls back, startled, and Steve can see the moment she remembers where they are. “Not here,” she rasps, a little too late in Steve’s opinion, but he plants one last peck on her lips before stepping back. Bucky helps her onto a stool when she sways, and Steve turns away and busies himself with fetching the bread in order to hide his smug smile.

“Stay here, darlin’,” Bucky tells her. “We’ll get the food.”

“Sounds good,” she replies faintly, which does nothing but stroke the ego Steve tries to keep modest.

“Here,” Darcy says, and he sets the hot bread down on the extra plate she hands him.

“Mm,” Bucky hums as Steve opens the foil, the smell of garlic buttered bread wafting strongly through the air, “damn, that smells good.”

“Right?” Darcy cheers, inhaling deeply as she pulls the plate in front of her. “Mm, I forgot how good homemade meals smelled,” she adds as she picks up one of the clean spoons and starts to separate them in fours.

Steve puts that fact away with the rest of the things he now knows about her, but he doesn’t pursue the topic, realizing that it probably ties in to why she’s hesitant to speak about her family life. “Why are you doing that?” Steve asks as he pulls the oven mitts off his hands, interested in the way her focus narrows on the task in front of her.

Darcy blinks and looks up at him. “Oh, I—” She smiles sheepishly. “I was taught that bread is like wine—you have to let the bread breathe a little, to let it cool down a bit. But it has to insulate enough heat to last until we finish everything. Or rather, until you two finish everything,” she amends, grinning. Steve grins back, knowing they couldn’t refute that statement. It’s a good thing the others didn’t stick around for a bite, because with his and Bucky’s appetites, the amount of spaghetti Bucky made would be just enough to fill the three of them.

Speaking of spaghetti— “Here,” Bucky says, setting a plateful in front of her, the noodles garnished with a healthy amount of sauce and cheese, and was even decorated with sprig of basil. “Have a bite, tell me how I did.”

“Only if you do the same for the bread,” she barters, picking up her fork.

“Deal,” Bucky replies as she twirls her fork through the pasta, making sure to get a good amount of cheese and sauce.

“Ohmygod,” she says again through a mouthful of noodles, her eyes falling shut as she savors the taste. “Oh my god, Barnes,” she moans after swallowing the bite she’d taken, “this is _amazing_.”

Looking pleased at her verdict, Bucky smiles and thanks her, then goes to fetch the rest of the food. He doesn’t bother transferring the pasta out of the colander, puts the block of mozzarella cheese and a grater between the three of them, and tosses a large coaster on the counter and sets the saucepan on it. Steve holds back a laugh, knowing that he’d have done the same—not because they’re lazy, but because they’re too conscious of how wasteful it would be to use too many plates and utensils and cookware that they’d have to rinse off and put in the dishwasher.

“Oh no,” Steve realizes, pausing in the midst of dumping sauce on his pasta.

“What?” Bucky asks, eyes darting instantly to the food. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Steve’s heart pangs at the immediate conclusion Bucky comes to, and he shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s not the food,” he says, grimacing as he nods to the machine. “We’re gonna hafta unload the damn washer.”

“Shit.” Bucky makes a face, and Darcy starts to giggle through a mouthful of spaghetti.

“It’s just the dishwasher,” she says after swallowing her food. “Least it’s not laundry.”

That sparks a debate between the difficulty of doing laundry versus the difficulty of loading and unloading the dishwasher. Steve will later be embarrassed about it. Bucky and Darcy won’t be.

Still, Steve manages to use this to pull a story from Darcy’s childhood, in which she had saved her cousin’s new puppy from being drowned when said cousin put it in the washing machine after being told to give the puppy a bath because it was starting to stink. Darcy’s mother had purchased the puppy from her brother to save it from the careless affections of her (“idiotic, moronic, stupid, self-absorbed—”) cousin.

Incidentally, Darcy has by then had enough to drink to get her a little bit more forthcoming about the details, so they learn that Darcy dearly loved her mother and absolutely adored her father (and seems to hold little affection for the relatives she’s mentioned so far). Her mother, she says, had been an animal breeder, so she’d grown up on a small ranch with a barn where they kept most of the noisier animals. Darcy herself had had four pets—the dog (creatively dubbed Puppy by a six-year-old Darcy), two hamsters (named Hamm and Hamlet, both of whom were apparently how a young Darcy learned about sex and reproduction), and a cat (that she adopted when she was sixteen)—that she kept around the house, not including the tank full of fish in her childhood bedroom.

Neither he nor Bucky are dumb enough to ask where her pets now were and what happened to them.

“Wait,” Bucky says, wine glass halfway to his lips, a look of suspicion on his face, “what was the name of your cat? You never mentioned.”

“I… Ugh, _fine_ ,” she grimaces, making Steve grin at the adorable look on her face. (What? It’s not his fault he that finds her adorable in everything she does.) “Fine, his name was Kitty, okay?” He and Bucky burst out laughing. “Ugh, you guys are assholes,” she grumbles, but the fact that she’s trying to hide her own smile tells Steve she’s not really upset.

“You… You literally went ‘here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty’ when you were lookin’ for him!” Bucky gasps, completely over the moon at the thought.

Darcy finally grins and laughs with them. “Yeah, pretty much,” she giggles.

It doesn’t take them long to settle down after that, particularly when Darcy asks if they’d ever had pets and Steve admits they couldn’t because he’d been allergic to fur. “Bucky tried to give me a gerbil shortly after we met,” he adds, “but my ma had to give it back when I kept developing a rash on my hands from touching it.”

“I had a dog when I was younger,” Bucky nods. “The big lug used to sleep in my bed with me, but I had to make him stop when I realized I couldn’t touch Steve after I touched him.”

“Aw,” Darcy sounds, looking sad at that.

“Do you miss having pets?” Steve asks as he swipes his half-eaten garlic bread through what sauce is left in the pan.

“I already _have_ pets,” Darcy grins and waggles her eyebrows mischievously, and both Steve and Bucky start laughing again, realizing she meant Jane and Erik. “But no, seriously? I do kind of miss having a dog, but I wouldn’t have time to really take care of one. I’m constantly managing the administrative shit at the lab, plus my scientists, plus Bruce, and sometimes plus Tony too. Plus—” and here she clears her throat and looks pointedly at them, “—you know who.”

Steve can’t resist. “Voldemort?” he gasps, and then laughs when he hears Bucky say it with him.

Darcy’s mouth drops open, and with a shriek, she throws her table napkin at his face. “You two! You’re unbelievable!”

He lets the napkin hit him and saves it before it can fall onto his plate and get stained. “We are pretty amazing,” he agrees, smirking at her. She rolls her eyes heavenward, but the smile on her face ruins the exasperated look she’s going for.

Like all good things, dinner eventually comes to an end when Steve finally runs out of bread and spaghetti sauce. Darcy puts away two platefuls of spaghetti, half a loaf of bread and a third of the bottle of wine, while Steve and Bucky devoured the rest. Bucky is understandably both pleased and disappointed when Darcy, after hesitating briefly, gives him a simple peck on the cheek and says, “Thank you for dinner,” before doing the same for Steve and piling their plates together. “I’ll do the dishes since you two did most of the cooking.”

“Ha-ha, no,” Bucky says before Steve can, rolling his eyes as he collects their glassware, leaving the saucepan and colander for Steve to ferry over to the sink. “You cooked too, sweetheart, and it was the best garlic bread I ever ate. Thank you for that.” Darcy looks startled when Bucky pecks her on the cheek too, but it dissipates when she sees the cheeky grin on their lover’s face. “And you’re welcome. Anytime you want a home-cooked meal, you know which one of us to go to.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Steve demands, feigning affront.

“That’s how it is,” Bucky intones seriously, though his eyes glitter with mischief.

Darcy giggles. “Aw, baby,” she coos, reaching up to pat his cheek. “Don’t worry. I know you can make a mean sandwich if I’m too lazy to make one for myself.”

“Damn straight,” Steve grumbles, taking the dirty plate she hands him.

“Now go,” she says, and he lets her turn him around and yelps when she swats his ass, though he really should’ve seen that one coming. “Rinse and load.”

He shakes his head. “No, we got this,” he tells her, and when she tries to protest, he gives her a look and firmly says, “Darcy, go to bed. We’ll be up in few minutes.”

For a moment, she wavers, and the shiver that travels over her has him itching to forget the dishes and bend her over the counter again instead. But then her expression hardens. “Wow. I really appreciate the amount of input I just got there,” Darcy says pointedly.

Steve blinks, and promptly feels apologetic for his overconfident thinking. Because even though he knows that Darcy’s gonna end up in bed with them tonight anyway, it’s still polite (and _right)_ to ask for her company instead of assuming she’d agree. “Sorry,” he grimaces, shaking his head like it would clear it of his presumptuousness. “I… I guess I’ve just gotten used to you always being there with us.” He gives her his most earnest look. “You don’t have to sleep with us if you don’t want to. I—”

Darcy scoffs. “Steve, honey, please. You and Barnes got me all fired up with that ‘here, taste this’ make out session. Don’t tell me I can’t ride those pogo sticks tonight,” she says, waving her hand at their crotches. Steve has to resist the urge to laugh and cover his face with a hand. “I just meant that if I wanted to do the dishes with you, I’m gonna damn well do the dishes with you.”

Which is how they end up working together again, this time to clean up after themselves. Darcy takes on the arduous task of unloading the dishwasher (okay, he’s exaggerating, but damn, even though they’re really convenient, it’s mind-numbing and laborious to pack in and clear out when everyone eats together) while he and Bucky wipe and scrub everything clean of crumbs and tomato sauce.

It’s not until they’re done loading the dirty dishes into the washer that Steve notices Darcy standing in front of the island counter, seemingly abandoning her task of cleaning off the countertop to stare at herself in the mirror over the sink, her doubts showing clearly on her face. _Too much_ , he thinks, heart panging as he realizes she’s retreating from them. He’d pushed her too much tonight, used her tipsy state to tease out stories she wasn’t ready to share. _Shit_.

Steve swallows guiltily and tries to think of something to say, then almost laughs when the idea comes to him.

“You look like you’re thinking deep thoughts,” he tells her, attempting to emulate her voice.

For a moment, Darcy doesn’t seem like she hears him, and it gets him a look of disbelief from Bucky, making Steve flush. And then she blinks and turns to him, her lips curving up in recognition.

“That’s my line,” she replies, scrunching her nose at him.

“You’re supposed to play along,” he grins, the heat in his cheeks going warmer when Bucky starts to guffaw.

“Wait, wait, wait,” his soulmate says through his laughter. “Don’t tell me _that’s_ what you first said to him?”

It’s Darcy’s turn to blush. “Shut up,” she grumbles, looking embarrassed as well, returning to her abandoned task of wiping down the counter.

Bucky kicks the dishwasher shut and strides over to her with a determined expression on his face. “JARVIS,” he calls out, “privacy protocols please.”

“Still in effect, sir,” JARVIS acknowledges as Bucky walks up to her, cups her cheek and angles her head up as he leans in close. Darcy’s breath visibly catches in her throat as Bucky brushes his thumb over her cheek and the tip of his nose over hers and his lips across her own.

“Does it look like anyone’s comin’ down?” he asks.

“No, sir. The coast is clear.”

“Good,” Bucky says, and when she still hasn’t pulled away, he puts their lips together and kisses her, silver hand splayed over her back to press her close, flesh fingers tangling in her hair to keep her where he wants her.

Darcy moans and doesn’t hesitate to kiss back.

Steve grins and doesn’t bother hiding it.

(No one’s looking anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that was probably more plot than epic chapter. Do tell me what you think, because fuck, you all spoiled me last chapter, _god_. And don't worry, I did already start on the next chapter while at work ("working", *cackles*), and I'm hoping it won't take as long to finish, like this chapter, ugh.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this bit, even just a tiny bit. =D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No summary, because HOW THE FUCK DO I SUMMARIZE THIS CHAPTER WITHOUT GIVING ANYTHING AWAY?
> 
> WARNINGS: PORN (YAY. Wait, should that even be a warning? Oh well.), some non-sexual angry hair-pulling, kink discussion. Oh right! The kink thing. Okay, so this chapter mentions daddy kink briefly, but I've been told that's not a thing most people like, so here's your notice, and the promise that it's ONLY mentioned, not acted out. Because in my head, Steve and Bucky don't find age play appealing. Sorry to the people who were hoping for it, but that kind of rp is not on Darcy's list.

Steve always wakes up first—

(He rises just before the sun does—a habit he’d developed when he started noticing the early signs of tuberculosis on his mother, when he decided it was his turn to take care of her, to repay everything she’d done for him his whole life. Sarah Rogers had tried to keep him away, and had tried to use her history as a nurse to get herself sequestered in the TB ward to keep him from getting it too. It didn’t work.)

(Steve hates hospitals for more than their inability to heal him.)

(He hates bullies.)

—and as always, he spends a few minutes quietly admiring serene lines of his soulmate’s face. His first week back, Bucky hadn’t slept at all. The two months they’d spent trying to reconnect had given him some peace, but it hadn’t gotten rid of the near-violent nightmares that kept Bucky from sleeping for more than two to four hours whenever he felt safe enough to rest. It was only after they fell into bed that Bucky really started to go to sleep every night, and only because Steve managed to exhaust him into doing it.

 _Look how far you’ve come_ , he thinks, then mouths the words to his slumbering beloved even as he marvels at the very thought. Every time he looks at Bucky, he can’t help but feel so proud. And happy. And content.

Darcy’s presence only enhances those feelings, makes him— no, _lets_ him believe that he and Bucky can still have some semblance of the life they’d dreamed of having, a life they’d mapped out before the war and refined after they finally got together. Finding good work, getting married, having children and growing old together, surrounded by a family they built together… It was a beautiful dream, one he had given up on the moment his soulmate fell from that goddamned train, the moment he lost sight of Bucky in that ravine and believed him dead.

He smiles as he thinks about it again now, imagines how his life would turn out with both Bucky and Darcy in it as he moves his hand up her hip, leaning in to press his lips to her shoulder and take in the scent clinging to her hair and skin. He imagines doing this with them for the rest of his life and feels like he’ll do anything to make it happen.

“I love you,” he whispers against her sleep-warm flesh. It’s not his first time saying that to her like this, not the first time he’s whispered secret things in the privacy afforded to him by the early hours, and regret fills him for his belated realization that he’d never actually said it when she could hear it until the other day. She had been so surprised, he remembers, so astonished at the possibility that he could be in love with her, like she couldn’t fathom how that could be.

There’s been too much sex going on, he’d realized last night. Too much sex, not enough words. Well, words that weren’t meant to incite and inflame their desires anyway.

And that had to stop, he knows that. They needed to talk more, _share_ more if they wanted this relationship to go somewhere that’s… well, that’s _more_ , more than what they already have. Steve knows he loves Bucky and Darcy, and he knows that Darcy loves him back, and knows that at best, his lovers share a mutual respect and admiration for each other. All Steve has to do now is ensure that those feelings get nurtured and hope that they evolve into love as well.

And judging by the way the past few nights have gone, he thinks that last bit is well on its way.

And yes, sex has still been happening, even though he’d thought that there was too much of it going on, but honestly? He doesn’t want to run the risk of her mistaking the suggestion of abstinence as a requirement or a threat in conjunction to them going out together. Natasha had been right about Darcy’s beliefs, but she’d been wrong about Darcy’s willingness to go on a date with them. One of the things he likes about Darcy is that when she knows what she wants, she goes for it immediately, so Steve knows that if Darcy _had_ wanted them to be dating, she would’ve said yes as soon as he floated the idea out there.

The fact that she still hasn’t answered the question (three days after he’d first asked it) speaks volumes, but it’s still unclear whether it says she doesn’t want to date them or if she simply hadn’t entertained the idea at all and was still mulling it over.

Then again, that’s why he and Bucky have been courting her too. In the last three days, they’ve done a few subtle things that they hope showed her that they don’t just want sex with her, but that they also want her and think about her and feel things for her beyond lust and physical attraction.

The morning after they had dinner in the kitchen together, he and Bucky had fixed a tray of her favorite breakfast foods and presented it with a single yellow flower that she tucked behind her ear and wore the whole day after. (He and Bucky were in the elevator—Steve having dragged Bucky back after stopping him from going on an unwitting shopping spree to buy things for her—when they received a text message from Thor that held a picture of Darcy with the flower in her hair, captioned ‘LOVELY LADY DARCY’ and showing off the shy but happy smile they rarely see on her face.)

(They encountered Clint in the elevator and discovered that Thor sent that picture to everybody who lives in the tower, so there was no need to worry about whether Thor knew about the relationship or not.)

(Steve still isn’t sure whether he’s more relieved or disappointed by that fact.)

The day after that, they brought her (and Jane and Erik) lunch in the lab. She’d worried that the others would figure them out for it, but Steve reassured her that even if those who weren’t in the know thought anything more of it, they would only assume that their ‘newfound’ friendliness was just that—friendliness. That line of reasoning almost caused them a setback, because it had reminded Darcy of her insecurities over the fact that the two of them are soulmates, and Steve had nearly brained himself on the steel table they had been eating on for not realizing at once that she would take it that way.

Then yesterday, they’d taken her to the lower levels for dinner and a movie. That turned out to be a mistake, considering that Darcy hadn’t relaxed into it until he and Bucky—feeling guilty for springing the date-like scenario on her—made her come in her seat, Steve putting his hand down her pants while Bucky palmed her breasts, the two of them whispering to her all the ways they were going to take her apart as she stifled her moans with her hands. _That_ spoke a lot about her opinion on dating them, but dismal though the idea is, she doesn’t tell them that she doesn’t want to date them, so Steve still holds out hope that she just needs a little bit more time to process (and hopefully accept) their offer.

Their nights had gone by with fewer hiccups. Steve had told Bucky about Bruce’s warning, and his soulmate had agreed immediately. As it turns out, he’d been worried about it ever since they saw the bruise on her breast, and it would be easier for Bucky to control his strength from the very start instead of constantly checking with himself whether he was giving out enough pressure to leave light marks on her skin. Steve doesn’t think Darcy has noticed the change yet, but she will as soon as the bruises they last left start to fade, and he knows he’s gonna have hell of a time trying to convince her why it was a bad idea to continue that, when they’ve spent over half a year doing it without incident.

He breathes her in one last time as he resolves to come up with a way to show her that they’re not ending the relationship they have, that they’re serious about pursuing a relationship with her—a romantic one instead of just a sexual one—and when he pulls back to look at them both again, he finds Bucky’s eyes open, watching him with only a hint of grogginess.

He smiles. “I love you too,” he murmurs, knowing that his other half had heard what he said to Darcy and not wanting him to feel excluded.

Bucky’s lips twitch. “You’re such a sap,” he tells Steve, whose smile widens at the unspoken, but still audible awkwardness Bucky carries whenever a compliment is directed at him. It’s yet another parallel his soulmate shares with their lover, one that Bucky doesn’t seem to notice exists. “I love you too.”

As always, the words warm Steve up and give him the urge to kiss the love of his life, and he sees no reason to suppress the desire. He braces himself carefully so as to not disturb Darcy’s sleep, maneuvering himself so he can crawl over to Bucky’s left side and leaning in for that kiss as he settles down. Bucky’s metal hand, warm from where it had rested over Darcy’s, curls its fingers over the back of his neck, holding Steve in place as they kiss, languid and lazy and loving.

They stop, however, when the sheets start to slide off of them, and Steve snickers—perhaps a little too loudly, but Darcy is a particularly deep sleeper and doesn’t even stir—as he watches a still-sleeping Darcy turn over with a near-silent exhale, her hands clutching firmly at the blanket as she moves into the space Steve had just abandoned. She does it every time he moves away from her, whether it’s just to go to the bathroom or to get dressed for their morning run. She’ll wake up briefly if it’s the former and he comes back to bed, but if it’s the latter, then as soon as Bucky is up, Darcy’s gonna start rolling around the bed to wrap herself up, as if she’s trying to make up for the absence of their body heat.

It’s adorable, and Steve can’t stop smiling every time he sees or even just _thinks_ about this little quirk of hers.

“Look,” Bucky murmurs, his right hand coming up to grip Steve’s hip, “more hands.” And then he turns them over, sliding them out of the blanket’s range and bringing them dangerously (heh) close to the edge of the mattress. Steve’s snort comes out muffled, and he sinks back into a kiss that’s no longer slow and unhurried, but deep and heated. He trails his fingers lower and feels Bucky’s breath hitch in anticipation, and Steve teases at the skin between his soulmate’s groin and thigh, making Bucky squirm briefly before he can stop himself.

“Steve, stop teasin’,” Bucky grunts, his hips moving to chase those playful fingers, and Steve smiles and obeys, letting his hand grip Bucky’s steadily hardening erection. “Lube,” his soulmate moans quietly. “Steve—”

“I know,” he replies, already reaching over to the nightstand and mentally thanking Darcy for bringing her own bottle, because it meant that they always had at least one on both sides of the bed. Fishing the red container out, Steve squirts a bit on his hand and goes back to stroking Bucky’s length, his mind already mapping out how he wants this to end.

His soulmate has an opposing plan already though. He takes the bottle and lubricates his own right hand to reciprocate, slanting his lips over Steve’s to catch the pleased sound that escapes him. As soon as Steve realizes that Bucky’s not fooling around, he matches his other half stroke for stroke, their moans muffled against each other, and Steve, well, it’s no surprise that he reaches orgasm first.

Bucky can get very, _very_ focused when he’s ah, got a mission, so to speak.

“Fuck yes,” Bucky breathes against Steve’s cheek as his come splashes between them. “That’s it, Steve, that’s it.”

“God, Buck,” he gasps, the abrupt onslaught both delicious and too fast for him to truly feel satisfied about. It’s like getting his appetite whetted—he always wants more after, and Bucky knows that. He whimpers when he hand around his slowly softening member lets go, but he decides not to complain when Bucky pushes his knees up and greases his fingers even more. “ _Yes_ ,” Steve hisses as he feels Bucky’s fingers circle over his perineum before dipping lower, and he reaches his free hand down on his own to pull his left butt cheek aside and give his lover more room to work with.

“Sometimes you remind me of Darcy,” Bucky smiles as his metal hand pulls at his right cheek carefully, leaving Steve spread open for him. “Always so eager to have your asshole played with.”

“Because you do it so well,” Steve counters, biting his lip and relaxing his tensed muscles as a finger pushes forward and retreats several times, breaching him unhurriedly. “Bucky, more, come on.” He groans loudly as the finger presses in, still slow, but no longer teasing him by pulling back.

“Quiet down, punk,” Bucky tisks quietly against his abdomen. “Or I’ll stop if you wake Darcy up.”

 _Impossible_ , Steve thinks, by now knowing just how much it took to wake Darcy up from a dead sleep, especially after the long hours they’d just spent trying to make their dinner-and-movie faux pas up to her. Darcy had gone to sleep exhausted but extremely satisfied—Steve’s _plenty_ sure of that.

Still, he takes his fingers off of Bucky’s still-firm erection to muffle the sounds coming out of his mouth with the back of his hand, and also tries to minimize the amount of movement he was making, though the latter is a difficulty to do when Bucky’s being goddamn coy with him. By the time another finger joins the first, Steve’s length is swelling back up once more, and he groans and holds still as he feels himself being stretched, Bucky reaming him in a slow and gentle counter-clockwise motion.

“Bucky…” he whines, trying to push himself onto his soulmate’s fingers.

“Mm, too bad Darcy’s asleep,” Bucky teases. “She could be taking care of you right now, working your cock in her hand or in her cunt while I open your little hole up for my dick.”

“Fuck,” Steve chokes out, going lax on the bed as he imagines how that would go.

“You like that, huh?” Bucky grins. “Strange that we haven’t done it that way. And here I thought we were so damn adventurous in bed.”

“We are adventurous in bed,” Darcy mumbles groggily, shifting into an upright position and trying to untangle her body from the blanket she had unconsciously tucked around herself. Seeing her up is a surprise to them both; Steve had been so sure she wouldn’t wake, and he can’t help but wonder if they really were being so loud that they roused her from a dead sleep.

Bucky pauses his motions and smirks. “Did Steve wake you up, darlin’?” he asks, and Steve quickly remembers the promise Bucky made not five minutes ago.

“You both did,” she replies with a sleepy sigh as she finally frees herself, rolling off the mattress with no shame for her naked state whatsoever.

Steve really likes that about her, and he lets his eyes rove over her form, tracking her as she makes her way to the bathroom.

“Well then,” Bucky says, looking back at Steve and resuming his ministrations once the bathroom door closes behind her, “since we _both_ woke her up…”

He laughs and reaches for Bucky’s hard on once more, savoring the small grunt that escapes his lover as he brushes his still-slick thumb over the tip. Bucky retaliates by scissoring his fingers, Steve’s breath catching as he’s stretched wider, and then wider still as a third digit joins the others. “Buck,” he pants, pressing his head back into the pillow as the sensations make him start to sweat. “Bucky, come on, fuck me.”

“Say it again,” comes the low, growling request.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” he obliges willingly, enjoying the way it makes his soulmate’s eyes darken further with desire. “Fuck me, I want you to, I want you.”

“Good boy,” Bucky pretty much purrs, sending goose bumps up Steve’s body and making his erection throb. “Put a pillow underneath you so I can fuck you just like this,” he continues, and Steve quickly yanks Darcy’s abandoned pillow into place. “God, you look so good all spread out for me. I think m’gonna fuck you like we fucked Darcy last night. Would you like that, punk?”

Considering what they’d done to Darcy last night? “Fuck yes,” he answers eagerly.

“Tell me to fuck you, Steve,” Bucky requests again. “Ask me real nicely.”

He bites back a groan at the request. “Fuck me, you jerk. Fuck me and come inside me, fill me up like we did Darcy last night. I wanna be as messy as she was before we cleaned her up—”

Steve’s not the consummate dirty-talker his lovers are, but the way the both of them react then he tries certainly makes him feel like one. Bucky pushes his fingers in deep and toys with what skin his thumb can reach while he bends back down to kiss Steve, rough and needy and frantic. The angle is awkward given that he’s got his fingers where they are, but neither of them mind, especially when Bucky pulls them out and replaces them so _slowly_ with his stiff member, drawing a loud groan of satisfaction from Steve’s throat.

“Yeah, Steve, I gotcha, punk,” Bucky rumbles against his cheek as he seats himself all the way in. “God, you’re so fucking hot inside.”

The bathroom door opens once more, and from over Bucky’s shoulder, Steve sees Darcy pause at the doorway, glancing at them before tracking her clothes with her eyes, obviously plotting how to leave them to it. _Shit_ , he thinks, trying to figure out how to reassure her that this isn’t them phasing her out or something.

It’s Bucky who comes to the rescue this time. “Darcy,” Bucky moans as he pushes up and looks over at her, his slippery hand returning to Steve’s revived erection. “C’mere. Come back to us, sweetheart. Got a seat waiting for ya right here if you’re not too tired.”

She relaxes, the tension bleeding out of her as she smirks and pads back to them. “I’m fresh off a few hours of sleep,” she says, purposefully jiggling her breasts as she approaches them. Steve swallows as his mouth waters at the thought of getting his hands on those soft, lovely globes. “I think I can handle a round or two with you two. Hi there,” she adds, grinning at him, and she must’ve noticed where his gaze has been because she pushes her breasts into his hands encouragingly.

Steve doesn’t even think twice about touching them, and he nearly squeezes them tightly when Bucky grinds into him, reaming him firmly as he twists his wrist on an upstroke. Suddenly, having her on top of him seemed like such a terrible idea, because how on Earth is he supposed to control his strength when simply having Bucky inside him makes him forget to hold back? He shoots Bucky a worried look, but his soulmate doesn’t seem to notice.

“Up and over, darlin’,” Bucky tells her, squeezing the head of Steve’s length before reaching out for the pack of tissues they rarely really used. “Sit up here for a moment, sweetheart. Let me get you wet for Steve, hm?”

“No, come up here,” Steve says, shaking his head as he grips her by her hips and helps her up over his face, needs the extra time and focus to get used to feeling Bucky and retaining awareness of his strength to keep from holding onto Darcy too tightly. He should never have started doing it in the first place and should’ve said no when she asked him to leave them the next time he came to her, because now he’s used to using a certain amount of pressure over her skin and it’s taking him a while to readjust. He thought he’d managed it already, but with Bucky providing a distraction to his concentration…

Well, he’s gonna need time to readjust again.

He presses his lips to the skin between her thigh and core, sucking at the sensitive flesh he finds there. Since she’d just gone to the bathroom, the taste and scent of clean water clings to her, and he’s not surprised that she feels a little cool and dry on his tongue. He’s not worried though; Darcy is the most easily turned on woman he’s ever had the pleasure of having in bed, and he knows well enough how to get her soaking wet for them in under five minutes. (Yes, he _has_ timed it. Repeatedly.)

Darcy sighs and leans forward, holding herself up on her belly and breasts, and Steve groans when he feels her dainty hands wrap around his slick member.

“Well then,” Bucky laughs slightly, and Steve jerks up and moans when the sensation of having his erection touched and jerked is accompanied by the drag of Bucky pulling out and pushing in gently. Months of them attempting to divide his attention between them during sex has taught him how to multitask, but even Steve finds it difficult to split his attention now, attempting to use his lips and tongue and hands to arouse Darcy while he savors the tension Bucky is stirring inside him.

“Steve,” Darcy moans, her hands stuttering over the rhythm she’d been jacking him off to, when he pulls at her cheeks to spread her wider for him and finally laps once over now-slick slit, then takes her swelling bud and starts sucking it gently into his mouth. “Steve, fuck, _yes_ …” She tries to ride his face, but her precarious position doesn’t afford her the purchase she needs to roll her hips and keep her hands where they are. Darcy’s creative though, and Steve groans against her flesh and suckles her harder when he feels her tongue lick over his come-stained abdomen. “Fuck, Steve, you taste so fucking good,” she murmurs, and he echoes the sound, his length twitching in her hands as he imagines what she must look like, lapping at his stomach.

And then he grunts a small laugh as his obviously perverted mind conjures up the image of a cat drinking milk from a bowl.

“So do you,” he tells her before she can take offense to his moment of humor, squeezing her ass just to hear her react to it.

“Jesus, you two,” Bucky says, and Steve swears when his next thrust comes harsher than the others. “Darcy, c’mere,” his soulmate adds throatily, taking his hands off Steve’s waist. Darcy hums and stops stroking him, and the sound of them kissing has Steve whining in protest, partly because he realizes that Bucky’s trying to get the taste of him off her tongue, and because Darcy’s body going pliant and loose on top of him like this means that it must be a pretty damn good kiss, and _he can’t see them at it_. “Steve, let her up,” Bucky tells him, his dark and deep tone letting Steve know that things are about to get a lot more carnal than they already are. “And put your palms flat against the headboard.”

Steve smiles in amusement and gratitude, because _of course_ Bucky noticed his earlier concern, and _of course_ he’d come up with a solution for it.

They don’t stop kissing as Darcy moves down his body, and without any preamble, Bucky takes Steve’s erection and feeds it into her slick heat, sliding his metal hand over her back to push her down and sink him completely inside her. “Fuck!” Darcy gasps right alongside Steve, whose eyes roll back at the sudden snugness wrapped around his aching length.

“God, Darcy,” he groans, rolling his hips, and he shudders at the dual sensation of slipping in and out of Darcy’s body and slipping Bucky’s own member in and out of his. This isn’t the first time he’s had them like this, but it’s the first time they have him in this position. Darcy always used to be either above or below the both of them. But now, it’s Steve who’s under them both, who’s literally at their mercy, and he sorely wishes that their headboard isn’t basically just a slab of polished metal, because he needs something to grab onto.

He makes a mental note to go shopping for a new bed frame, or maybe just a new headboard—something with bars or slats he can wrap his hands around and not ruin with the first touch. Suddenly, Steve imagines both his lovers doing the same, their hands tightly gripping bars above their heads as he touches them, and the image convinces him to make that shopping expedition a priority.

“Watch this,” he hears Bucky murmur, and realizes why and braces himself a split second before his soulmate angles his hips up with one hand, pulls his hips back, and then thrusts in, quick and hard, the motion bouncing Darcy up and down over him.

A loud “Fuck!” is torn from his throat, the surprise of it all catching him off-guard, and Darcy whimpers and moans and starts rocking her hips over him.

“Again,” she demands, and Bucky obeys. He won’t remember until Darcy mentions it later, but the sounds and expletives torn from his throat are apparently “porn-worthy”. For now, Steve finds himself clutching at the edge of the mattress instead of the headboard, trying to remember not to tear it in two as he watches his lovers work together to drive him over the edge.

If he didn’t know any better (and he certainly knows better, considering he’s the one in the middle of them, so to speak), Steve might’ve been convinced that it was just the two of them having sex. The pillow angles his hips enough that Bucky can fold his legs under Steve’s thighs and comfortably drive into him without strain, and Darcy is facing Bucky, his right arm slung over her back while his silver hand is under Steve, keeping his hips up and moving; with Bucky controlling the strength and pace of their union, it’s almost as if Bucky’s the one moving inside her, not Steve.

He might’ve felt left out, but to be frank, he is _literally_ fucking Darcy and getting fucked by Bucky right now, so it’s pretty hard to feel left out when he’s getting the best of both worlds.

Well, that and hearing them talk about him in between making out and groping each other. “God, it’s like you’re fucking me with Steve’s cock,” Darcy groans, her hands dipping between the three of them to tease at the sensitive skin of Steve’s perineum.

“I _am_ fuckin’ you with Steve’s cock,” Bucky growls, and Steve whimpers at how true the declaration feels for him.

“You’re fucking us both,” she gasps.

“Damn fuckin’ straight I am, doll,” he rumbles. “How do you like it, hm? Tell me how much you like this.”

“I love it,” she says dutifully, and Steve moans as he feels her squeeze gently at his balls. “Fuck, this is so good. Best idea ever.”

“I got a better idea already. Next time you’ll be lookin’ at our Steven, and his cock’s gonna be stretchin’ that tight little asshole of yours.”

Darcy jerks bodily, a strangled sound escaping her. “James, fuck,” she whimpers as Steve hears a small tearing sound come from over his head, anticipation adding another thrill to his already overloading senses.

Bucky laughs. “I knew you two would like that.”

“Do it,” Steve hears her murmur. “Please?”

“Later,” comes Bucky’s reply. “Tonight.”

“Too long,” she whines, and then she squeaks and moves her hands away from him to stop Bucky from doing whatever it is he’s doing to her that Steve can’t see.

“Be patient,” his soulmate tells their lover. “Good things come to good little girls.”

Darcy gives a short, throaty laugh. “Oh, are we gonna play tonight? Gonna be my daddy, Barnes?”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Bucky asks as Steve groans, “Jesus,” in a low tone. He knows exactly what that means, having read up on… well, a lot of things, really, during his first few months with Darcy. It’s only now, though, that he realizes how much of their sex life is a power play between the three of them, with Bucky coming out on top most of the time.

“Look at that,” Darcy hums, glancing over her shoulder at him, her hands moving to Bucky’s own shoulders for purchase. “Steve likes it when I call you daddy.”

He feels a little delirious from pleasure, so that may be why he finds this funny and laughs breathlessly. “Not really, no,” he replies. “I just realized we’ve kind of been playing that game for a while now and didn’t even notice.”

“How so?” Bucky asks, leaning over her shoulder to suck at her shoulder and look at him, and Steve sees that his soulmate is barely hanging on, his pupils so dilated it’s a wonder he can still see the blue rings of his irises. The sight inspires Steve, incites in him the desire to finish Bucky off, to feel him come deep inside him, and hell, to feel Darcy come around him at the same time.

He can’t suppress the smirk that forms on his face as a plan unfolds in his head, his mind becoming clearer now that he gets a mission of his own, so to speak, even as Bucky makes Darcy move her hips while still driving his length into Steve.

“Well, Darcy’s already our good girl,” he tells Bucky, feeling confident enough with his clarity and control over his strength to bring his hands down, touching Darcy’s back with his left and Bucky’s hand splayed over it with his right. “We take care of her, we bathe her, spank her when she’s disobedient or naughty or asks for it, and hell, we’ve even fed her, haven’t we? Already our baby girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Jesus fuck, Steve,” she gasps, her tight passage squeezing down on him as she rises up. The lovely sensation makes him groan, but he doesn’t forget his end goal. “Ah!” she cries when he smacks her ass lightly, just under Bucky’s wrist.

“What was that, kitten?”

She shudders, her head tipping back with a groan. “Yes,” she mewls, and he grins at the appropriately kitten-like sound she makes. “Yes, fuck, I’m already your baby girl, Steve, Jesus Christ.”

He grins at Bucky, who looks awed and interested and _hungry_. “Of course you are,” he tells her, moving his left hand around to her front. “You’re our pretty girl. Always so good for us. Always good _to_ us.” He can’t quite reach her in his current position, but it’s not at all a strain to crunch up to get those last few inches he needs to slide his fingers over her clit. As a side-benefit, he bears down on Bucky at the same, drawing an almost tortured sound from his soulmate, and even Steve can’t stop the keening sound that escapes him at the way Bucky has to force himself into his body, his mind nearly forgetting what he’s about to say. “God, fuck, you’re… you’re ours,” he stutters, his thoughts more scattered than he realizes. “Ours, baby girl. Tell him, kitten, tell him you’re ours—”

“Yours,” she babbles obediently, wheezing a little as she sucks in air and moves against Steve’s ministrations. “Fuck, god, James baby, I’m yours.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky snarls into Darcy’s shoulder, removing his hand from under Steve to brace himself on the mattress and squeezing his eyes shut as he comes.

“That’s it, Buck,” he grits out, trying to both relax so that Bucky can have an easier time driving in and out of him and hold his position so he can keep rubbing Darcy’s slick nub, knowing by the sounds she’s making and the slight fluttering of her muscles that she’s nearing her own end. “That’s it. You like knowing she ours, don’t you?”

A choked sound escapes Bucky, and he thrusts in once more, pushing deep into his body and holding his stance while pressing as close as he can to Darcy, his noises muffled by her skin and her own cry of completion.

 _Yes_ , he can’t help but think as he watches them cling to each other, shaking and whimpering and riding their orgasms. It’s not often that they come before he does (okay, _technically_ , he already came before them), but Steve loves it when they do. They’re beautiful together, Bucky and Darcy, and never more so when they’re pressed together and looking like the best wet dream he’s ever had. He’d happily lie there if he could, just watching them and feeling them climax on and inside him.

But now that his mission has been achieved, the intensity of his own need for release washes back over him. The tactical side of him lingers long enough that he manages to turn them all over, putting Bucky on his back and Darcy between them without dislodging his place in Darcy’s body (though he regretfully can’t keep Bucky’s softening length inside him at the same time), and then it disappears, leaving only the overwhelming urge to rut his hips and bury himself deep into Darcy’s warmth.

“God, you two,” he’s not aware of saying. “You’re fucking amazing. I love you. I love you both.”

“Steve,” he hears, and the sound fuels him, eggs him on.

“Darcy,” he returns, brushing aside her hair and latching his mouth onto her shoulder, biting down briefly before remembering himself and Bruce’s request and peppering kisses over her skin instead. “Darcy, sweetheart, I love you. Bucky, you too, I love you too. I love you both.”

“I know, Steve,” Bucky groans. “I know. We love you too, punk, you know that.” Steve shudders, then lets out a noise when Bucky’s hands cup his buttocks and spread them, the familiar sensation making his breath catch in his throat. “Come for us, punk. Come inside our pretty girl’s cunt—let her feel how good she makes you feel.”

“Yeah, Steve, come inside me,” she pants. “Come for us. Fill me up, baby, I want—”

Steve groans in relief as he finally feels the pressure inside him ease and burst out. He vaguely registers his hands being tugged off Darcy’s waist and his fingers tangling with a set of large hands, most of his focus on the sensations washing through him. He stifles his noises against the sweat-damp skin under his face, hips rolling in an effort to extend the feel of his release.

By the time he can think again, he’s already lying on his back, and Bucky is hushing Darcy, sliding his hands over her back as she whimpers and shakes on top of him. A bolt of worry shoots through him, edging out the satisfaction he’s feeling, but that fades when he sits up and sees her reach down to cup herself, attempting to stem the flow of white seeping out of her and dripping down onto Bucky’s abdomen.

“Darcy,” he breathes, a strong surge of possessiveness washing through him, and he doesn’t think twice about scooping up what had already dripped out and pushing it back into her, bringing his mouth over her to catch what he can on his tongue.

They manage to make her come three more times before he and Bucky decide to skip their morning run to squeeze in a second and third round with her, Steve making love to her in bed and Bucky taking her slowly in the shower.

(Weeks later, they’ll realize just how important that decision had been, and how it affected the future the three of them faced.)

*

Between the two of them, Steve’s the one with a busy schedule. Everyone may know who the members of the Avengers are and what they look like, but that doesn’t mean they all go out to maintain their public façades every day. Steve hates playing the part of a ‘dancing monkey’, as he’d once put it, but SHIELD’s public collapse had forced the Avengers Initiative to claim separation from the organization, requiring them to ‘play nice’ with the public. Which meant that every day, one or more of the Avengers would go out, show their faces so that the paparazzi could catch them doing something noteworthy and good that would appease the masses, then come back to the tower to complain about how pushy and inquisitive paparazzi could be.

Usually, he’ll accompany his soulmate for his rounds, but today isn’t Steve’s day to go out. Steve does anyway, telling him he needs to run an errand for a few hours, and Steve’s request that he stay home works out perfectly for him, because there’s something he needs to look up on the Internet (to “Google,” as their housemates call it nowadays), and he still can’t do his research comfortably with Steve hovering over his shoulder.

(Later, during dinner, he’ll find out that Steve took Thor with him, the two of them spotted in a furniture store in Lower Manhattan. The _Daily News_ somehow manages to concoct a full-page story about what they were up to, and how this rare pair coming out together meant the two of them were dating. The _paparazzi_ , he knows, are the reason why the Avengers kept their significant others as secret as possible, Tony Stark’s semi-public relationship with Pepper Potts being the exception.)

Once Steve’s gone, he activates their privacy protocols and Googles ‘domination play’.

He learns _all_ kinds of things that morning, finding himself reading more literature about domination and submission and BDSM than he can keep track of. He realizes that Steve was right about his (their) relationship with Darcy, in a way—he had, after all, been attempting to dominate Darcy in the bedroom for months, so it wasn’t really a surprise to learn that their relationship (no, _arrangement_ , he reminds himself) closely mirrors that of a dominant and submissive’s, with one major difference.

Darcy was not a ‘true’ submissive. Not with her propensity to dispense orders and instructions.

And neither was Steve, despite the fact that he’s the one who almost always ends up following their commands.

And, he reflects, neither was he really a dominant, given that he’d ‘submitted’ to Steve a few times already.

‘Switch’ is a far more accurate term, but neither that nor the Daddy/little one term can be used to describe their situation _exactly_. They were… well, more complicated than that, and after a few hours of searching, he realizes that no word or label might really encompass or define the relationship he and Steve and Darcy have.

And, to be honest, he’s not sure if that’s good or bad. He and Darcy had started out on the wrong foot, and from what he’d heard of it so far, her relationship with Steve didn’t exactly have the ideal beginning. She’d jumped into bed with both of them without even knowing a damn thing about them, and everything he (and Steve, he thinks) knows about her comes straight from her file.

Shit. None of them have bothered to really _talk_ to each other—not him, not her, and not Steve. What kind of relationship was that?

He tries but doesn’t find anything on the Internet that can help. Well, okay, not true—most of them describe just why ‘communication is key to having a successful relationship’, which _doesn’t_ help, because communication? Double-edged sword. They’re pretty good at it in bed, but not so much outside of it. Steve might have the best chance at it with them, but he and Darcy are… not _unwilling_ , but on his part, he finds it difficult to express himself properly. He’s so concerned with what Steve will think if he says the wrong thing, worried that Steve will realize what a mistake he’s made by letting him back into his life, afraid that Steve will leave him.

Afraid Steve will leave him and take Darcy with him, Sam too…

Steve will leave him with nothing, and then what would he do?

(He staunchly doesn’t think of his other options. They each have their own benefit, but he knows and feels that they’re all equally horrible too.)

He doesn’t realize how long he contemplates the matter—it feels like just a moment, really, but somehow he’s been thinking about this for hours. He learns this when Darcy returns to the room, much to his surprise.

“Hey,” he says when he sees her step inside, and doesn’t even realize he’s walking towards her until he reaches out and touches her. “What are you doin’ back here?”

She looks unsure and hesitant, and she fidgets a lot as she stammers out an explanation. “J, JARVIS, he told me you were,” she moves her hands up and down, “just staring, at the thing,” she gestures to the tinted windows that doubled as computer displays, “for hours now, and you weren’t answering him, and your brain waves were going all over the place. Apparently.” She winces. “He was worried?”

He smiles and looks up at the camera tucked in the corner to the west of the bed. “Thank you, JARVIS. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“It was no problem, sir.”

“Um,” Darcy points at the second window to the left, “are you seriously researching BDSM right now?” He stiffens and reflexively contains the embarrassed flush that tries to sweep up his chest and neck and face. “And… ‘how communication is key to having a successful relationship’?” she reads from the second window to the right. She turns to him, looking torn between confusion and disbelief and… is that _hope_ he sees lurking reluctantly in her eyes? “Barnes, what is all this?”

Communication. Right.

Ugh, fuck. He’s been trying not to do the things he used to do _back then_ , and that includes approaching Darcy for these types of things. (‘These types of things’, Jesus Christ, what’s that girl done to him?) But if he shuts this down now, she might take it the wrong way, and things have been so tentative between the three of them since Steve asked if they could date her…

He squares his shoulders and has to force himself not to fall into parade rest. “Darcy,” he begins, but then falters. Now that he’s resolved to talk to her, he realizes he’s not sure what to _say_.

Communication. Easier said than done.

When he fails to say anything more, Darcy takes a step back and forces a smirk to appear on her face, directing her gaze to the left window. “So, BDSM kinks,” she says, stepping towards the display. “Is that the next game we’re playing?” She waggles her eyebrows. “Are you gonna tie me up and spank me ‘til I come?”

For a second, he considers going along with the subject change. As a ‘game’, the idea has merit, and he already knows that restraining her and spanking her to climax are two separate acts that she enjoys.

And then he shakes the thought away. This isn’t the time, not really, and he needs to prioritize… needs to _communicate_. If he can’t start now, when the fuck will he?

He steps behind her and trails his palms down her shoulders and arms until he can place his hands on her hips and turn her around to face him. “I suck at communicating,” he tells her, and her bravado falters at his words. “But I’m gonna try. Because you… Steve and I want you, and not just for—” he gestures to the bed, “—sex. He’s in love with you, and I…” He steels himself and tries hard to say it as earnestly as he can, “I—”

Darcy pushes him back as hard as she can, and he’s so surprised at the act that he lets her do it. She pushes him again, and he lets her, dismayed and afraid that he’s fucked this up, but when the back of his knees hit the bed and she pushes him down, climbs onto his lap and kisses him forcefully, he realizes what she’s trying to do.

He feels anger and vexation uncoil in his chest, just as abrupt as the way she maneuvers him into this position, and he yanks her back by her hair to get her lips off his. Her surprised yelp reminds him not to let his irritation cloud his judgment, but it doesn’t make his feelings disappear. He’s so… _mad_. He’s trying his best to be better, to do the right thing, but how the hell he’s supposed to communicate these things when the person he’s trying to talk to doesn’t want to hear what he has to say?

“Really?” he grits out. “You’d rather blow me than hear me admit that I _love you?”_ She gasps and tries to recoil, her hands coming up to grip his wrist, but although he releases her hair to keep from hurting her, he doesn’t let her get away, hooking his arm over her back to keep her on his lap. “Look at me,” he growls, grasping her neck a little less carefully than he normally would to make her obey. “I _hated_ this,” he tells her, and she goes still, eyes locking with his. “I hated feeling this way. I hated how you make me want you and think about you all the fucking time. I used to plan our nights out, I told you that, remember? I’d think about what I wanted to do to you and how Steve would react to watching me do it. I’d think of every possible way to drive both of you out of your minds and I never realized how far under my skin you’d gotten until it was too late. It was too late because you weren’t just under my skin, you’d already gone deeper than that. You were in my head, and in my _bones_ , and—” He stops, realizing just then how true his next words are. “—you were in my heart,” he says quietly, his anger dying in the face of that truth, a multitude of emotions rushing up, fighting to replace it.

“James,” she murmurs, looking agonized at his words, eyes watering rapidly.

“I want you,” he tells her, loosening his grip on her. “I want you to want me too. Not just for sex, not just to touch you. I want…”

“Fuck,” she breathes, sniffling and closing her eyes and turning her head away now that she can. “Fuck, James.”

“M’sorry,” he mumbles, bowing his head as his own emotions make him choke and tear up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose my temper. God, this isn’t how I wanted to tell you…”

She lets out a sob and presses her face to the top of his head, her hands coming up to thread through his hair. “No, I’m… I’m the one who should be sorry,” she replies, sniffling. “I am. I’m sorry. I didn’t—” She shudders against him, and he holds her tighter before remembering that he doesn’t want her to feel trapped, not after he’d practically held her hostage on his lap. “I’m not good at this either,” she says quietly. “Communicating. I— I never was, but I… you’re right. I should try too.”

“No, don’t,” he murmurs, then winces when he realizes what he’s saying. “I mean, don’t say anything if you don’t want to. I didn’t… I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t want you to say things just because I did.”

“I know,” she nods. “You want me to share things because I want to share them, not because you tricked me into sharing them.”

He shuts his eyes at the reminder of what he’d told her during that first dinner they all shared. “I meant that,” he tells her. “I still do.”

“I know,” she repeats. “And I am.” She moves her hands to cup his cheeks, gently directing him to look at her. He bites the inside of his cheeks as he sees her pink nose and red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks, hating himself in that moment for causing her to cry, because it means that he’d hurt her.

He never wants to hurt her, not ever again.

“I do want you too,” she tells him. “I told you before, I’ll always want you to touch me. I wouldn’t let you if I didn’t want _you_.”

He feels even more horrible now, feels like he’d fucked up because he let himself get mad. She wants him too, but he’d just _hurt_ her. No wonder she doesn’t want to answer them.

 _He’s_ the problem. He has to be. Steve’s so good to and for her, so it couldn’t be Steve she’s hesitating to commit to.

“Say yes to Steve,” he says. “If you want him, say yes to him. You don’t have to date both of us.”

She leans back with a huff of surprise. “What?” She shakes her head. “You… you just said you wanted me.”

Guilt pangs through his chest at the small, uncertain tone she speaks with. “I do,” he confirms. “I do. But I… I get it. It’s easier with him. You can trust him. I’m… I’m the wildcard. I’m the one who came and messed things up for you two—”

He stops when she snorts a laugh and gives him an incredulous look. “You?” she says, her tone matching her expression. “Barnes, I didn’t think I’d have to remind you of this, but you and Steve are _soulmates_. If anyone’s messed things up, it’s me for coming between the two of you.” She grimaces, looking pained. “I shouldn’t have talked to him that night. I should’ve just left him alone.”

“Don’t say that,” he tells her, moving his hands to her shoulders. “Don’t ever say that again, don’t even think it. Remember what Steve said? You _helped_ him. Don’t take that from him, Darce, don’t take _this_ from _us_.”

She softens, biting her lip and nodding. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“C’mere,” he says when she can’t find the words to say, and she sinks into his embrace, pressing her face to his shoulder and clinging to him tightly. Despite the tension that still lingers around them, he can’t help but feel relieved that she’s not pushing him away and refusing his gesture of comfort.

“Did you mean it?” she asks after a few long moments.

He knows immediately what she’s referring to and cringes again at how it had come out. “I do,” he murmurs, wishing he could take it back, if only to deliver the words in a better way.

“Can you…?” She swallows heavily and shifts. “Can you say it again?”

“Yes,” he replies instantly, pulling back to look her in the eye. “Darcy, I love you.”

Her chin dimples as she smiles sadly and nods. “I don’t know how you can,” she tells him. “And I don’t know why I can’t say it to Steve when I feel like I can say it to _you_.” She shakes her head and shrugs and lets out a self-depreciative laugh. “It’s not fair. I should be able to say it to you both.”

“Are you…?” He swallows and tries to take a breath as he realizes what she means. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

A small sob escapes her as she nods again. “I love you,” she says, and he laughs at the same time she does, elation flooding him at the words that spill from her lips.

“I don’t know how you can,” he tells her honestly, and realizes that this must be how she felt when he said it to her. “But I’m so glad you do,” he adds, smoothing his hands down her hair, the urge to touch her immensely overwhelming.

Darcy sniffles and giggles lightly, her smile so fucking perfect he can’t look away. “Say it again,” she requests softly, moving her hands back to his face and brushing her thumbs just under his eyes, wiping away tears he doesn’t even notice falling down his cheeks.

“I love you, darlin’,” he doesn’t hesitate to repeat.

She smiles even wider and replies, “I love you too, baby,” and he feels like he’s about to burst, like there isn’t enough space in his body to hold his joy inside of him. Darcy laughs brightly, her fingers tracing his lips. “You’ve got a great smile,” she tells him.

“So do you,” he says as she leans in, pressing their smiles together. She kisses him warmly, welcomingly, and he returns the tenderness she shows him, opening up to her only when her tongue finally seeks entry and moaning when her nails scratch at his scalp. “I love you,” is torn out of his lips when she pulls back and starts kissing up his jaw.

“I love you too,” she breathes against his skin, making him shiver and pull her closer, threading his fingers back into her hair to bring her lips back to his.

They’ve never really done this before. Make out, he means. Despite his changing and growing feelings, kissing—when it finally happened between them—has always ended up being a precursor to sex, or a way to pour out excess emotion as they fucked. Kissing for the sake of kissing… it’s a first for them.

That’s not to say that it doesn’t do anything for him—because it _does_ , especially with Darcy touching every part of him she can reach without moving away, sighing and humming like there’s nothing else in the world she’d rather do than be here in this moment with him. It’s all he can do to keep his hands over her clothes, because everything she does drives him so damn crazy. The urge to be with her—to be as physically close to her as possible, to mark every inch of her and claim her as his—is so strong that he trembles from the effort of holding back, desperately trying not to screw this all up by making the wrong move or saying the wrong thing.

What makes things worse is that he _knows_ she’ll _let_ him. She’ll let him undress her and kiss every inch of her and take her until they’re a sweaty, soiled mess on the bed, and she’ll be happy about it. She’ll walk around with his come inside her and a smile on her face, and the mere thought nearly makes him choke on air as he tries to push it out of his mind.

Thing is, underneath the happiness and delight and the freedom their admission to each other brings, he feels _guilty_ , feels like he’d stolen this moment from Steve. And that’s why he can’t take what he knows Darcy would willingly give him, what she’s quietly offering up to him when she starts rocking her jean-covered crotch over his.

“Wait,” he murmurs, bringing his hands down to still her hips. “Not yet.” He kisses her chin and her jaw and her cheek. “I don’t want this moment to end. Not yet.”

She bites her lip and peers at him through her lashes before nodding and scooting away from his groin. “No problem,” she whispers, and the shy, pleased look it earns him eases the anxiety he’d felt at stopping her.

They still end up tangled together in bed, but for the first time, their clothes don’t come off as they kiss. It’s impossibly easy to stay in control of his urges, even though he’s aching to strip her bare and press inside her. It’s easy because she’s _here_ , because she loves him back, because she’s not lying about that, and she’s not running away from him.

It’s easy because she’s smiling at him like he’s just stolen the moon for her, and greater than his desire for her body is his desire to keep her looking at him like that, to keep her smiling that way.

He brushes her hair back with careful, silver fingers and cups her face, wondering if this is how Steve feels whenever he looks at her. Because if it is, then he understands now how his soulmate couldn’t let go of her to be with him alone.

She’s intoxicating, this girl lying beside and half-under him. He still can’t understand how she can be so strong and kind and loyal and brave and loving and fun-loving and be _genuine_ about it after the horror she’s endured. That’s not to say she doesn’t have moments where she’ll quietly start tumbling into a panic, but it doesn’t happen often for her as compared to most of the people living in the tower, and he can’t help but wonder sometimes how she does it, how she gets herself over episodes like that when she’s not even seeing a therapist or talking to anyone about it. Everyone he knows tells him that the best way to let go and heal from the ‘bad’ things he’d experienced was to share the burden, to talk about it and free the ghosts haunting him, but there are times he wonders whether Darcy’s way is better after all.

“Hey,” she says, tugging at the collar of his shirt, and he blinks and shakes his musings away. “Where were you?”

He smirks. “Darcyland,” he replies, and she flushes and laughs, smacking his chest lightly with her hand.

Like all good things though, their private little moment had to end.

“I may have escaped the lab without telling Jane,” she explains after murmuring that she should get back to work, her eyes focused on where her fingers are toying with the ends of his hair, “and unfortunately, I have a ton of data to sift through.”

It’s probably for the best that he lets her go for now. It’s barely lunchtime, and he can’t keep her to himself no matter how much he wants to. If Steve can do it, he should too.

He presses his face to her shoulder and groans. “Fine,” he says. “Stupid week days. Next time, we do this on a weekend.”

“I work on weekends too,” she replies, laughing a little. “That’s the downside of living where you work.”

“Ugh,” he says, and she laughs louder as she pushes him off of her and shimmies across and off the mattress. He smiles as he leans back and tracks her as she makes her way to the bathroom, pleased that he can make her do so, and decides not to say more on the subject, wanting this time with her to end with a light atmosphere.

 _Then again, who says it has to end here?_ he thinks, resolving to walk her to the elevator, at least.

“Oh, and um, in the interest of full disclosure?” Darcy adds, leaning on the doorway and pointing to one of the open windows on the screen, and he winces, having actually forgotten about the mass of articles he’d pulled up on the display. “I’m not especially into age play, and I don’t think you guys would be either.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, me neither.”

She smiles and slants a look at him. “I wouldn’t mind calling you ‘sir’, though,” she tells him, her voice shifting suggestively. “Would you let me?”

“Sure would,” he answers faintly, the idea not at all helping with the already-heavy ache in his unfortunately tight jeans.

Her eyes practically _twinkle_ with mischief. “Thank you, sir,” she says in the most docile tone he’s heard from her yet, and it takes everything in him not to follow her into the bathroom.

Jesus fucking Christ, that girl.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to take care of his erection until after he drops her off at the lab. Yes, his decision to walk her to the elevator leads to him dropping her off at the lab, with them asking JARVIS to activate the privacy settings and making out again inside the elevator car. Jane even greets him cheerfully when they enter the lab, and he has to resist the impulse to kiss Darcy goodbye before he walks back out and returns hurriedly to his room.

Later, he’ll ruminate over how distracted he’d been, remind himself that he has more discipline over his body than even Natalia does over hers, and realize that with Steve and Darcy, he doesn’t _want_ to resist the desires they evoke from him. But the moment he steps into his room, he strips out of his clothes, nabs the bottle of lubricant in the nearest nightstand, and goes straight to the shower, his hand already stroking his dick before he even walks past the bathroom door. It doesn’t take him long to come either; a few strokes—combined with the sense-memory of how tight and warm her pussy feels around his cock and the way she tells him she loves him, _sir_ —has him coming within a minute, his knees buckling at the fantasy he’d envisioned.

(He finds himself half-dreading the moment she uses that combination and realizes how effective it would be on him, because _Jesus fucking Christ_ , that’s hot.)

*

The feeling of a hand shaking her shoulder lightly makes her blink and derails her thoughts. Probably for the best, considering she’s been freaking out over what just happened between her and Barnes.

“You seem troubled, Lady Darcy,” Thor tells her quietly, leaning his ass against the edge of her desk. “I offer my ear and my counsel should you have need of it.”

She almost laughs, because the last thing she wants to do is tell Thor the convoluted tale of how she fell in love with two soulbonded men she knows she doesn’t deserve and shouldn’t be with. “I’m okay, Thor, but thanks.”

He gives her a thoughtful once over, then leans in. “Is this about James and Steven?” he asks.

Darcy quietly freaks out even more. “What? What do you mean? What about James and Steven?” she asks, wincing when the words come out _way_ more defensively than she expects or wants them to.

Thor smiles. “I have seen how your affection for them grows daily, little one,” he says kindly, “and you needn’t fear nor worry, for I can see that they hold you in high esteem as well.”

She’s torn between whimpering in distress at what he’s noticed and laughing in relief that that’s all he _has_ noticed. “Thanks…?” she responds a little feebly, feeling weak-kneed (well, it’s not just her knees, her elbows, arms and legs are tingling too).

He shoots her another assessing look. “Was I wrong in assuming that this is what’s troubling you?” he asks.

 _Well_ …

She debates the merits of talking to Natasha instead, or even Clint, since they both already knew about the real nature of her relationship with Steve and Barnes. But then she thinks of how Natasha has this weird complex history with Barnes and how Clint has a set of vintage Captain America trading cards he swears isn’t his and thinks that maybe, just maybe, the two of them might put the interests of their fellow Avengers (and she knows that’s what Barnes is, if it’s not official yet) above her own. Thor, she knows, loves her enough to always be on her side.

“No,” she admits. “You’re right. I am… _worried_ about my feelings for them.”

Whew. Okay. That’s progress, right? Jane would be so proud if she knew. Which she won’t, because if Jane gets a whiff of this, then nothing’s gonna stop her from meddling in the name of ‘Darcy getting better’. She knows Jane can’t help herself, because Jane’s a fixer and a dreamer and has just enough determination to make her want to pursue her goals. It’s just unfortunate that Darcy has become one of the things Jane thinks she needs to fix.

Thor, to his credit, doesn’t react the way Jane would’ve. His expression never changes from somber curiosity, and he doesn’t leap for joy that Darcy has opened up to him. Instead, he asks, “Would you like to speak more, or would you permit me to share what I have observed?”

Definitely the last one.

“Go for it,” she says.

He nods understandingly. “I believe they would be good to you,” he tells her. “I’ve met no one on Earth more honorable than our Steven, and the way he looks at you is how I think I look at my beloved Jane. Were it not for James, I’ve no doubt that he would be courting you before the eyes of our friends, if not the eyes of the world.”

She has to swallow _hard_ at that, because Thor… she’s pretty sure Thor’s spot on with that assessment.

“And I cannot deny that James looks upon you and Steven differently,” he continues. “Steven appears to be his guiding light, and James treasures and guards him like a dragon to his hoard of gold and jewels. But you,” he adds, smiling at her, “you he longs for with an intensity even I, for all my years, and for all that I love my Jane, cannot see myself matching.” He puts his hand back on her shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. “If you let them, I know they would love you until their dying day, and it would be a love no less than what I believe you deserve.”

She’s caught off-guard by Thor’s words, and it’s all she can do to swallow back a sob, her emotions roiling inside her. She’d expected… well, something different, and instead, Thor practically gives them his blessing to be together and…

And guilt rears up above the rest of the clamor in her chest and her head, because she’s _lying_ to him, lying right to his face, and a lie of omission is still a lie and that voids it all—his belief that she deserves to be loved, his belief that she deserves this kindness and loyalty from him— _everything_.

She doesn’t deserve it.

She can’t deserve it, not when he doesn’t know the truth.

“I’ve been sleeping with them,” she blurts out, practically vomiting the words all over him. And then she pales, abruptly remembering why telling him—and anyone else—was a bad idea all around.

But instead of Thor being stunned at the news, she’s the one who gets surprised. “I know,” he tells her, still smiling.

“You… what?” she asks distantly, feeling light-headed as she digests that admission.

Thor straightens up and pulls her off her seat. “Let us walk,” he says, and Darcy absently matches him stride for stride, still dazed and in shock. “I’ve known for some time now,” he expounds once they’re in the elevator, where she valiantly tries not to stare at the spot where she and Barnes had been making out not an hour ago. “Since what I think was the early days of your clandestine relationship with them.”

Darcy almost chokes—on air or her own spit, she’s not sure, she wasn’t paying attention to _that_. “I… how…?”

“You were quite depressed when you ended things with your earlier beau,” Thor reminds her. “But then you started smiling again. You hid it better, James even more so, but Steven couldn’t stop looking between the two of you. His adoration for you both shone through quite clearly.”

The part of her that had known it would be Steve who would give them away crows and grumbles. The rest of her still can’t believe that Thor seems okay with her relationship with Steve and Barnes, not after his reaction to the bruises Steve had left on her body months… ago…

 _He doesn’t know_ , she realizes. Thor doesn’t know that it was Steve she had been seeing before Barnes arrived.

Her guilt seems to double down and make her shoulders feel even heavier even as something inside her relaxes upon learning of Thor’s ignorance. The need to protect Steve and Barnes from Thor’s wrath is just as powerful as her desire to earn the loyalty he feels for her still thrums through her, and she feels the two ideas tearing at her, urging her to give in to them.

The elevator dings just as she alights upon the perfect solution.

A compromise. Thor doesn’t have to know about the real story behind her relationship with Steve and Barnes, and she just has to be careful not to let him see the bruises on her hips and thighs. And even if he does see them somehow, she can simply remind him that they were super-soldiers and say that either one of them, or both, had gotten a bit too enthusiastic for a moment, and had already made it up to her (which, frankly, they do, every time). Thor, who has super-strength himself, would understand that and wouldn’t fault them for it, although he might just try to give them advice or a stern talking to, or something equally embarrassing.

She’s just about to speak, the two of them exiting the receiving room to emerge onto the walkway that led down to the helipad, when Thor asks, “You _are_ happy with them, aren’t you?” He looks worried suddenly, and Darcy inwardly flails at the path his thoughts are starting to move to.

“Yes,” she says, and is promptly surprised that it feels true. Well, yes, she _knows_ it’s true but… this is the first time she’s said it aloud, and impact it makes is… well, _striking_. “I’m happy. With them. Really, I…” She blows out a breath and peers up at him shyly. “I love them.”

(It’s unfair. Truly. She’d said it to Barnes, and she’d just admitted it to Thor, but somehow, the thought of telling Steve still makes her pause.)

Thor smiles, looking satisfied. “Good,” he nods.

And then Darcy succumbs to the urge to tell him _something_ and vomits the edited version of the story all over him. She doesn’t tell him about the confrontation with Barnes, just that he’s the one who approached her about it (which she thinks surprised Thor even more than her actually telling him about it). She doesn’t tell him about how kinky they can get, but she does admit that sex has been the essence of their relationship up until recently. He’s fucking _beaming_ by the time she gets to the dinner thing, and lets out a shout of delight when she tells him about them asking her out and her exchange with Barnes earlier today.

He doesn’t tell her he’s proud of her, or that she deserves to have all the happiness the world can give her. Instead, he says, “I’m so happy for you, little one. Everyone should have someone to love them, and I’m glad you have found people who will love you the way you will them.”

Darcy leaps at him and hugs him tightly, so goddamn thankful to have him in her life. “You know I love you, right?” she asks. It’s so fucking unfair to Steve, but she can’t not ask, not after everything he’s said and done.

“I do,” he tells her. “And I love you as well. You are one of my greatest friends, Lady Darcy. I am honored to know you, and blessed to call you my sister in all but flesh and blood.”

“Aw,” she sniffles. “Shut up, you’re making me blush.”

Thor grins and brushes his knuckles over her cheeks, wiping away the tears stubbornly falling from her eyes. “Are you embarrassed? I believe you said this is the task of an elder sibling, isn’t it? To mortify and tease their little sisters?”

“Gah, don’t make me get my taser,” she laughs, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

Back when they were first getting to know each other in New Mexico, Darcy had mentioned that her academic focus was in politics, and Thor had been delighted to learn what she has from her classes. After his return and subsequent vow to remain on Earth for the foreseeable future, he had enlisted Darcy’s expertise to learn the various laws and regulations that exist in the world, specifically America, but also often including those from other countries. Darcy, initially surprised at his interest, eagerly leapt to the task, and would hang out with Thor in the afternoons, introducing and explaining everything she knew, and even researching a few new things when she had the time to do so.

Today though, she decides to mix things up and chill out with him until lunchtime, resigning herself to a bit of overtime later tonight so she can finish encoding the data specs she’d ignored and abandoned. (She stalwartly does _not_ think about what she said to Barnes earlier, the one about playing _that_ game with them.)

(And she does _not_ wonder if they’ll spank her for being late to arrive in their room, reminding herself that they don’t have a set time to meet up, so there was no way they can punish her for missing a curfew that does not exist.)

They stop at lunchtime, and Thor then takes her down to the twenty-fifth floor to pick up lunch for them and Jane. Darcy flushes when the elevator opens up to reveal Steve inside, though to Thor’s credit, he says and does nothing to indicate that he now knows more about their relationship than he had before. Darcy chooses not to say anything either, not because she wants to keep it a secret, but because she’s not sure how to tell Steve ( _and_ Barnes) that she’s practically divulged their secret without consulting either of them, even though she suspects they wouldn’t mind, considering they’d asked her to go on a date them.

Oh god.

As soon as Steve gets off at the kitchen-dining room level, Darcy turns her eyes to Thor and blurts out her question, asking him for advice about the topic.

“You wish to know my opinion on this matter?” Thor asks, surprised again.

“Yes. Please?” she asks, practically begging. “I don’t know what to do! What if I say yes and it ends up destroying everything we already have? What if I say no and they resent me for it and it still destroys _us?”_

“You focus on the negative too much, my dear,” he says. “What if you say yes and it becomes the most wondrous and cherished of your experiences in life? What if you say no and they respect your decision, and love you no less for your decision to remain honest with them?” He tilts his head as he gives her a considering look. “My advice is this: be it a yes or a no, tell them what is in your heart. Then tell them what is in your mind. If you have doubts, speak it, for how are they to know what you want and need from them if you do not?” He shifts the paper bags so that he’s holding them in one arm and lays a hand on her shoulder again. “They may be ‘super-human’, but they are still men, and they cannot read your mind.”

Darcy bites her lip and nods. “You’re right,” she tells him as the elevators open on their floor. “Thanks, Thor.”

“I am here every day, around lunchtime. Please tip your waiters.”

She kicks him lightly in the shin, and she knows he lets her foot make contact with his leg. “Smart-ass,” she laughs. “I’m so proud.”

“I learned from the best,” he winks, dumping the paper bags onto her desk.

Lunch goes by quickly, and then Thor, bored because he had nothing to do now and no one to play with, hits her with the rubber band that he sends flying straight at her mouth, luckily catching her teeth and upper lip instead of sending it straight into her throat. His apologies interspersed with laughter, Thor quickly scurries away when an indignant and spluttering Darcy pulls her original taser out to retaliate, because _Jesus Christ, Thor, you have no idea where that rubber band has been!_

Things settle down after that though, and Darcy is able to work continuously until dinnertime.

“Darcy, aren’t you coming up yet?” Jane asks, pausing awkwardly by her desk. “We’re having pizza tonight, I think.”

“I’ll just finish this last batch,” she replies, smiling at her boss-friend. Things have been better with Jane after Steve… well, told her off, and Darcy can’t thank him enough for that. Coming in and not being met with worry-fueled questions has made her feel safer and less pressured in the lab, and that little factoid spoke volumes about how stressed she had been about it all. “I’ll follow you up, okay?”

“All right,” Jane says quietly, clearly wanting to say something else, but doesn’t. “See you upstairs.”

She doesn’t see Darcy upstairs. Darcy does indeed finish with the last batch of printouts, but it takes her over an hour and a half to double-check their readings from the ones NASA has sent over, and until Steve comes down to the lab with her food, she doesn’t notice that dinner is, by then, over and done with.

“Darcy?” she hears someone say, and she only registers that it’s Steve peripherally, her attention on the information scrolling past her screen.

“Hey,” she greets absently, tilting her head and a smile towards him as he puts a plastic cup down in front of her.

“You missed dinner,” he says in a chastising tone, placing a slightly chilled hand on her shoulder as he leans down and sets a paper plate stacked with pizza down beside the cup. “Bad girl,” he murmurs quietly beside her ear, his thumb brushing up the curve connecting her shoulder and neck, and her focus disengages from the screen once she registers the words he says and the tone he says them with.

In the wake of her chat with Thor and the mind-numbing monotony of her work, she had completely forgotten what she’d said to Barnes, who has clearly told Steve about it. It all comes back to her now though, and she’s never been more aware of the fact that everything that happened in this room is being recorded with both visual and auditory means.

“Well?” he asks, maintaining his low tone, clearly just as aware as she is of the recording devices. “Don’t you have something to say?”

Her breath catches at the words, and she tries to think of what he _wants_ her to say while pressing her thighs together to alleviate the ache that throbs through her without warning. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to miss dinner,” she whispers a few seconds later, and although she’s still staring straight at the monitor, she’s not really seeing its contents anymore, her entire world centered on the way his thumb is moving over her skin, forming goose bumps over her flesh and making her nipples harden and her stomach spawn butterflies and her core tingle with awareness of his intentions.

His hand squeezes her shoulder lightly. “What was that, kitten?”

A heavy surge of desire sweeps through her at the [literal] pet name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to miss dinner, _sir_ ,” she amends, nearly moaning the words.

“You will be,” he says, and she whimpers quietly at the promise, her belly clenching in complete arousal. “Eat your dinner before you come to us. You’re gonna need your strength tonight.”

“Fuck yes,” she groans as softly as she can, feeling light-headed at the command.

“We’ll see you later, precious,” he tells her, and Darcy barely contains the small whine that escapes her when he pulls away. “You work too hard,” he says, his voice back to its normal volume. “I admire that about you, Darcy, but you shouldn’t miss mealtimes either.”

She clears her throat and hopes to god that she can pull off the ‘normal’ vibe like he’s doing now. “I was just about done. And don’t worry, I’m _starving_ , I didn’t _want_ to miss dinner.” She picks up a pizza and bites down, and she moans in appreciation at the fact that he’d heated it up for her. “Thanks, Steve.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he says. The first time he said that within hearing range of anyone outside the three of them, Darcy’d nearly had a heart attack. Only Barnes putting his hand on her knee had kept her grounded and calm, and she’d relaxed further when no one batted an eyelash at the pet name. Steve had apologized that night, and she’d waved it off, though she hadn’t admitted to how much she’d enjoyed sneaking that word under everyone’s noses.

Well, _almost_ everyone. Natasha had actually raised an eyebrow at Steve when she heard him say it. Darcy still doesn’t know what that look meant.

“See you later, Darcy,” Steve adds amicably as he walks towards the door.

(Later, she’ll think hard on why she feels this way, but for now, Darcy starts to strongly consider the benefits of dating them before the eyes of their friends as he disappears into the hallway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, so close to getting these three together officially! I hate that I wrote them out to be so emotionally-stunted in the romance department--I just wanna smush their faces against each other and tell them to get together already!
> 
> *NOISE OF FRUSTRATION*
> 
> *STOMPS OFF TO WRITE THE FRUSTRATION AWAY*
> 
> *ADDITION: So like I told Notashamed, I don't really like stories that make Thor out to be an idiot/moron/ignoramous/dweeb, though I AM of the opinion that the Thor movie writers are the ones at fault for that, not the fanfic writers themselves (although you guys, you can give him a bit more depth, yanno?). I think the movies showcased Loki's brilliance too much that it overshadows Thor's own brand of intelligence, making him seem like the stereotypical dumb jock type who easily loses his temper and who's only skill is smashing his hammer. But I don't believe he's like that.
> 
> Look at the plan he came up with in Thor 2. He's not an idiot--he's the prince of a large kingdom and was in line to be the next protector of eight (seven? Svartalfheim is a dead planet, after all) other realms. If he hadn't been groomed in diplomacy and politics and history and whatnot, then I'll eat one of my hats. (Or Thor's hammer. I wouldn't say no to getting my mouth on Thor's _hammer_. LOL)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Bucky derail Steve's plans because of feelings, Steve is a sexual martyr, and Bucky has one helluva morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually planned this chapter to be the sir chapter, but then I realized, _Crap! They can't jump from 'I love you's to [REDACTED INFORMATION BECAUSE OF SPOILERS]s!_ So I opened a new document and wrote this down. (Well, not THIS this. I had a different scene in mind, but then that got WAYYY too heavy for an after-'I love you sex' morning, so this is what we all got.)
> 
> So, PORN ALERT! FEELS ALERT!
> 
> *EDIT: According to Ishywho, there's not a triggery thing in sight! Yay! *parties* ENJOY!

The next thirty minutes go by with Darcy in a lustful daze. She scarfs down the pizza and guzzles the drink, then wipes her hands and starts uploading everything onto Jane’s personal Oracle cloud. She’s too frazzled to finish things now, and has to ask JARVIS to wake her up after Steve and Barnes leave for their morning run because she really needs to get it all done before the next batch of data or documents or whatever she has to do tomorrow arrives and creates a backlog for her to wade through.

Once she’s sure everything has at least been appropriately saved and stored, she throws her plate and cup into the trash, collects her bag, then hurries to her room to drop her things off, brush her teeth, clean herself up (just in case), change her clothes, and also pack her overnight satchel. She checks her things to make sure she has everything before starting for the door, and then she doubles back to pick out a few toys and cleans them up (again, just in case) and dumps those and her last few packets of condoms into her bag as well.

To her surprise, Barnes is waiting for her in the hallway, and he looks… well, frustrated. “This isn’t how I want our first night to go,” he tells her, pushing her carefully back into the car and then asking JARVIS to lock the elevator and activate his privacy settings for a few moments. “I’ll do it if you want me to,” he adds, “but communication, right? So, I don’t think this is how I want our night to go.”

“Oh,” she says, a little taken aback by the suddenness of the conversation. “I…” She shakes her head, trying to find the right words to say to that. “I— Okay?” she asks, uncertain. “Wha— What do you wanna do then?”

He swallows and leans in to kiss her, and the slow, chaste press of lips somehow tells her exactly what he wants to do. “I wanna learn everything about you,” he murmurs, and the way he says it, all quiet and serious and intimate, makes her breath catch in her throat and her heart feel like it’s skipped a beat. “Get to know you all over again. Know it all. Your mind, your heart… Darcy, I just told you I love you today, and I want it to mean something outside of sex.” He takes her hands in his, and she lets him have them, a little dazed as she realizes where this is going. “But we have issues. Big ones. And I told you before that I’m ready to share them with you. And it’s not that I’m asking you to do the same,” he tacks on quickly. “That’s not why I’m saying this. I mean, if you want to share stuff with me, that’s okay, I’d love to—” He grimaces. “Wait, I’m not saying this right.”

“I get it,” she says quietly, touched but also a little intimidated by this surprising and totally unexpected spiel. “It’s not a quid pro quo.”

“Yeah,” he nods, looking relieved that she understands what he’s trying to say. “So if it’s okay with you, I’d like to try this communication thing with you. And,” he tacks on, wincing, “I’m not asking you to forget about Steve’s plans. I’m there if you really want me to be. But I don’t— I don’t want—”

“You don’t want to do the ‘sir’ thing tonight,” she states, realizing only then that this is what he’s talking about.

“No,” he exhales, squeezing her hands lightly. “No, what I want is to have you in my arms and relearn everything I know about how to make you feel good. I wanna press right up against you, feel every move you make. I wanna touch every inch of you I can, taste every bit of you I can, hear every sound and see every expression you’ll make as I do what I can to make you feel perfect in my arms.”

 _Jesus Christ_.

“Holy shit, James,” she breathes, her body already burning from just those few pretty words.

One corner of his lips twitches up, and his eyes seem to brighten at her reaction. “So.”

“Yeah,” she croaks. “Let’s… I mean, I get that. That’s totally fine. I mean,” she shakes her head, trying to figure out how to reboot her brain after that information dump. “Um.”

He chuckles and does her the favor of kissing her so that she doesn’t have to say anything. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies without having to think about it.

He presses his lips to hers again, harder and more urgent this time, and she presses forward reflexively, the act of kissing him second nature to her now. Her body hums when his hands release hers to move over her belly and around her waist—one going up her back to lightly grasp the back of her neck and hold her to him, the other down to cup her ass and push her closer to him. But the position soon becomes awkward, given his height and her own, and even pushing up to the very tip of her toes (or at least as far as she can go on them, anyway) doesn’t help, so it’s not long before Darcy pulls back to save herself the experience of an aching neck.

“Right,” she pants, trying to think of _something_ to say. “The sir thing. Tomorrow. Or whenever.”

“Shit, wait,” he says, moving back to look at her, the hand on her nape maneuvering around so he can cup her cheek. “I didn’t kiss you so you would say that. If you want to do it—”

“I want what you just told me,” she cuts him off, fisting the fabric stretched over his back and only then realizing where her hands had run off to. “I want everything you want to do to me tonight.” He shudders, but it’s when she sees goose bumps race up his neck that she does the same, the heat in her body increasing as she realizes _she_ had done that to him.

Holy shit.

“Oh! I can tie Steve up instead,” he suddenly says out of the blue, and she’s so surprised at the sudden topic change that she squeaks at the visual her mind comes up with.

“What?” she asks, giggling at the outrage she can see on imaginary Steve’s face.

“A compromise,” he grins. “Steve was going to ask if you were okay with being tied up and spanked, but we could tie him up instead.” The grin turns into a smirk. “He likes to watch us, after all.”

“You shouldn’t have told me that,” she says faintly, now torn between going his way and doing Steve’s idea.

He laughs. “Don’t worry,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead as his hand joins its other so he can give her ass cheeks a light squeeze. “I promise I’ll tie you up and spank you tomorrow.” A whine escapes her as she rocks into him, the words sending a delicious thrill from her core and out to the tips of her fingers and toes, and he in turn shuts his eyes tightly and groans as she pushes her belly against his crotch. “Okay, okay, let’s calm down a bit,” he murmurs, swallowing heavily as he tilts his hips backward. “And go tell Steve we’re changing his plans.”

He has her in their room before she can express the sudden apprehension and guilt that she feels at the thought of telling Steve and explaining why his plans had to be postponed. That’s probably a good thing though, because she thinks they might’ve ended up in the elevator car for hours, with Barnes trying to calm down the hysteria she’s slowly falling into as she considers Steve’s response to them boycotting his idea.

Plus, Barnes’s way turns out to be quick and painless anyway, which would’ve defeated the whole stalling-for-time thing.

“Steve, change of plans,” Barnes says as he ushers her into the room, kicking the door shut behind them. “You’re going to pull that chair—” He points to an armchair that Darcy knows wasn’t there that morning. “—up next to the bed, sit in it quietly, and watch us tonight.”

Steve pauses, looking confused, and Darcy nearly swallows her tongue when she spies the handcuffs and the lube and her red vibrator on the nightstand. Barnes’s idea is still something she wants, but Steve’s is looking even more tempting now that she can extrapolate from the items she can see just what Steve seems to have in mind for tonight.

“I thought—”

“Sit now, or I’ll tie you up and leave you in the chair all night. With your clothes on.”

Steve unpauses. “Yes, sir,” he says, pulling the chair up and dropping into it, his posture straight and his eyes staring right at them. _Watching_ , just as he was instructed.

“Fuck,” Darcy exhales, the thought making her bite her lip hard. Barnes isn’t helping his case any _at all_.

“Calm down,” he murmurs in her ear, sliding the satchel out of her grip and setting it down at the foot of the bed with his metal hand while his other slides its fingers through her hair and tips her face up. “You’re mine for tonight,” he tells her, and she thinks she stops breathing at the declaration. “Darcy,” he nudges her nose with his, lips brushing against hers. “Will you be mine tonight?”

“Yes,” she answers before he can finish asking, and he presses their lips softly together in a sweet kiss that has her closing her eyes to savor it, slipping her hands up his torso and over his shoulders to hold him to her. It doesn’t take long for the simmering heat to start boiling, and by the time they part, even James is breathing heavily, a state neither he nor Steve usually reach until they’re already inside her. And they’re still dressed and standing—also not a state any of them usually remain in for long periods of time in this room.

“Bucky,” Steve speaks up, making Darcy jump a little, having forgotten that he was even there, “I want my sketch pad. I want to draw you two, God, you two look beautiful together.”

His earnest tone makes her heart skip a beat, and then Barnes smiles that open, handsome smile that never fails to make her lose her voice and want to drop her proverbial panties to the floor. “All right, Steve,” he allows, never taking his eyes off of her. “You can go wherever you want, except climb into bed.” And then he bends and picks her up, making her squeak in surprise and wrap her arms and legs around him instinctively, even though she knows he wouldn’t let her fall. He carries her onto the mattress and then turns them over, sitting down in the middle with her over his lap, tugging a pillow behind him before his head hits the sheets.

“Kiss me again,” he murmurs, and she moans quietly at the request and leans down to oblige him. His hands now free, they start trailing over her body, up her sides and down her arms then up her body until he’s cupping her face again and kissing her deeper, his tongue flicking over her lips before licking into her mouth. Darcy tries to give as good as she gets, her hands roaming with no particular destination in mind, her mouth tasting and biting and sucking and moaning at him.

It’s not until he’s pulling away to sit up and push it off that she realizes he’d undone her button up, and she sighs when he presses his mouth to her bared shoulder and kisses a path up to her jaw, where he sends a tingle down her body and draws a moan from her as he sucks at her skin. His hands glide up and down her bare breasts and sensitive belly, the sensations making her giggle and squirm and grip his wrists.

“Stop that,” she mumbles softly, her temple pressed to the side of his head, and he twitches bodily when her lips brush over the shell of his ear. The reaction hits her with the realization that _she_ can explore him too, learn him the way he said he’d learn her, and she moans at the thought, her hands releasing him so she can undo the buttons of his own shirt and bare his skin to her eyes and fingers and mouth.

And she does. Learn him, she means. He made the mistake of letting her be on top, and she takes full advantage of that, pushing him back into a lying position and telling him to hold still while she explores the familiar territory of his body. Well, almost familiar.

In all the months she’s spent in his and Steve’s bed, there were a few things about his body that were off-limits to her. The first limit, now null, was putting her mouth anywhere below his waist. The second was his scars, which she hadn’t even been allowed to touch.

Until just now, when he covers her hand with his and presses them to the ridged flesh that surrounds the metal attached to his shoulder. Moved by the quiet permission he gives her, she leans in to kiss his lips softly, before leaning down. Off to the side, she hears Steve groan right before she presses her lips to the scarred flesh that reached for his collarbone, and she discovers why when James gives a full-bodied jerk and moans, his hands moving to her back and her head to hold her there while his head tips up and he starts to speak, asking her for more.

She hadn’t known that about him before.

(Suddenly, getting her hands and mouth on every inch of him becomes her number one goal for the evening.)

*

Steve no longer harbors any resentment for them uprooting his plans for the night, not when he sees the looks on their faces and the careful way his lovers touch each other. Not when he realizes what’s _really_ going on here.

 _YES! FINALLY!_ he thinks giddily, watching with eager, hungry eyes as Darcy strips Bucky bare for her to know, tearing down the walls Bucky has kept up so she can fall even more in love with him.

And they’re such a vision to behold like this. Steve has to abandon his idea of sketching them to memorize every moment of this so he can sketch every bit of it onto paper later to his heart’s content.

And it’s torture, the best kind of it, to be kept out of this private moment and yet be able to watch it all unfold. He wants to climb onto the bed, take Darcy’s hands in his and show her how to touch his soulmate, teach her all the secrets he’s learned so far and then discover more of those secrets with her.

His heart swells with happiness as he watches them, watches Bucky touch her hands, watches Darcy—

“My God,” Steve grunts enviously as Bucky jerks into a sitting position, whimpering, “Holy _god_ , Darcy, _fuck!”_ when she presses her mouth to the bulge straining in his pants and moans as she sucks him through his jeans loudly, looking very much like the women in the pictures he had been going through earlier in preparation for the ‘scene’ he had planned to give Darcy. He had briefly considered asking Darcy to do that to Bucky; looks like she would’ve been amenable to the suggestion after all.

Bucky seems to have reached the limit of his patience, because he fists his right hand in her hair and yanks her up towards him, kissing her with no small desperation and need and taking the reins from her. He flips them over and buries his face against her neck to breathe her in, then trails his hands and mouth over what skin had been bared for him, making Steve feel the conflicting emotions of buoyed and jealous as Bucky practically worships all the skin he can get his hands and mouth on.

Darcy is a quivering, babbling mess of frustration by the time he slides her jeans off her legs, his mouth following every inch of skin he exposes before making his way back up, and she swears when she realizes she’s still wearing her underwear.

“Stupid panties,” she whines as Bucky pushes her knees up and apart and licks at her teasingly through the fabric. “Why do I keep wearing them around here?”

(Steve grins at the question he’s pretty sure wasn’t meant for their ears. Darcy has a habit of speaking her thoughts aloud when she’s burning for them like this.)

“God, you’re so wet, sweetheart,” Bucky groans happily, wrapping his arms under her thighs and over her waist to hold her still. “You’re leaking right through your panties.”

“Fuck,” Steve whimpers, biting his lip and palming himself through his pants as the scent of her arousal suddenly reaches him.

“Can you smell her, Steve?” Bucky asks, grinning at him smugly before looking at her and taking a deep breath that has Darcy blushing hotly and snapping her hands to his arms, squealing his name. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” he tells her, kissing her clit through her panties and making _her_ whimper and twitch up for more. “I love how you smell, Darcy. I love the way you taste. I love how you look right now, so flush and gorgeous for me. And you haven’t even come yet, have you, darling?”

She shudders, and so does Steve, because dear God, the mouth on that man… “God, James, no,” she moans. “ _Please_ take my panties off and make me.”

“In a bit,” Bucky tells her, nuzzling the tip of his nose over her covered bud, tearing a needy noise out of her throat. “I’ll get them and you off soon.” And then he opens his mouth and seals it over her mound and _sucks_ , and Darcy cries out and digs her nails into his arms, telling them loudly that _it’s not enough_ , _she knows how good this really feels and_ _it’s not enough_ _because her panties are still there_ , and she begs him to take it off as she attempts to buck her hips up for more.

“Oh god, it _is_ enough,” she suddenly says, sucking in a breath and putting her hands to her forehead, as if trying to keep her brain from exploding, and then she goes rigid, holds her breath and closes her eyes.

And then Bucky pulls away.

“ _No!”_ she wails as the giant tease kisses up her thigh and licks at her skin. “James, _please!”_

Steve smiles a little proudly when Bucky doesn’t give in, knowing from experience that the longer Darcy is denied her orgasm, the harder and longer it lasts when they finally let her come. Bucky looks like he’s ah, going for the gold, so to speak.

His soulmate buys himself time by sliding Darcy’s panties off, tossing the wet fabric to Steve as he kisses up her calf and moves back to her core. Steve, knowing that he’s not going to be participating anytime soon, catches the underwear and undoes his jeans, totally not above using it to stroke himself. As a bonus, the sound of his zipper opening has Darcy looking towards him, and her breath looks like it’s been stolen from her as she watches him wrap the slick fabric around his length.

Steve is all too happy to provide her such a show.

“Oh!” she goes as Bucky spreads her legs once more and laps at the skin around her leaking slit. This time, Bucky doesn’t hold her down, so she squirms and writhes, pleading and begging until she’s a limp and quiet puddle of woman, and only then does their lover slide his tongue over her clit, making her moan a half-frustrated, half-relieved laugh. “Yes, yes, James baby, that’s it, oh, thank you, thank you, thank you—”

Bucky exhales sharply and moans, eyes drifting shut, and Steve tucks _that_ little treasure away for later use as Bucky gives in and lets her come. ( _Sucker_ , Steve thinks fondly, but eh, he’ll learn the way Steve had learned just how much Darcy likes her lovers stern and firm with her every now and then.) He makes her come twice, Darcy sobbing and thanking him as she jerks and trembles on the bed, and Steve bites his lip and has to remind himself of why he shouldn’t climb onto the bed with them to soothe and calm her down.

Bucky has it well in hand anyway, pressing his hand to her mound and trailing kisses up her body as he murmurs how good she was for him and how gorgeous she is when she comes, thanking her for being so patient with him and telling her… telling her he loves her.

Steve’s breath stutters as that last bit reaches his ears.

And then his heart feels like it explodes, right alongside his mind.

He doesn’t realize he’s grinning, or that he’s crying, until Darcy murmurs that she loves him too and he sniffles loudly, drawing their (and his own) attention to the fact.

“Aw, punk,” Bucky sighs, giving him a fond, exasperated look and, after exchanging a glance with Darcy, nods to the bed, saying, “Oh, fine. Get up here, you doofus.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate, dropping everything he’s holding and sliding in beside them to pull them into a hug. “I love you both,” he says, choked up and unable to do anything about it. “God, I can’t… I’m so happy right now.”

Darcy sniffles beside his ear and whines, “Goddamn it, Steve, I’m a sympathy crier,” and all he can do is laugh, too delighted to do much else.

Well, except kiss back when Bucky leans in for one. “I love you,” his soulmate tells him, and damn if it isn’t one of the most heartfelt versions he’s ever said to Steve. “I owe you so much, Steve Rogers. I’m so glad that you found her, that you found each other.”

“I’m pretty glad about that too,” he agrees, stealing another kiss—a harder, if quicker one—before turning to Darcy, brushing back the errant curls that are sticking to the lightly damp skin of her forehead as he says, “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey, baby,” she replies, placing a hand on his cheek. “Come kiss me too.”

“Always,” he murmurs, moving in to take her lips with his. It’s only when he feels Bucky’s hands on him that he pulls back slightly, debating with himself before deciding to let them continue without him. They need to do this without him in the mix (actually, they should’ve done this without him in the room in the first place), needed to learn how to function as a couple, the way they do with him separately. (And the three of them needed to learn how to function together too, but that can come later.)

(And honestly? He thinks he and Darcy could also use a refresher course, so to speak. It’s been a while since it was just the two of them, and the ‘games’ don’t count. Not really.)

He tells them this as he slides off the bed and retakes his seat, and Bucky gives him a grateful look as he presses a kiss to Darcy’s shoulder. Steve smiles, completely understanding the notion of having her to oneself.

“Are you sure?” Darcy asks, guilt lining her face. “You don’t have to play the sexual martyr, you know. You always have room in here with us.”

“Trust me,” he tells her, “this isn’t me being a martyr. I’ve got selfish reasons for staying in this chair too. The view’s just one of them.” He winks at her, and she smiles and rolls her eyes, relaxing at his reassurance.

“Looks like I don’t have to tie him up after all,” Bucky murmurs, and Darcy’s bites down on her smile as she giggles quietly. “Now c’mere, Miss Lewis,” he adds, turning her face to him so he can kiss her again, and Steve settles back into the chair, content to ignore the hard on he’s sporting to watch them make out and touch each other, the both of them eventually getting around to removing Bucky's pants and underwear.

It’s only when Darcy starts moaning and slides her knee over Bucky’s hip that Steve begins to undress as quietly as he can, unwilling to disturb them, although the jingling of the spare change in his left pocket defeats him. But since Bucky chooses that moment to slide himself gradually into her, he sort of succeeds in not drawing their attention away from each other.

Watching Darcy as he slowly breaches her body is always a glorious treat, because her face always shifts into this overwhelmed expression that never fails to hit Steve right in the gut. First, she stops breathing, her eyebrows scrunching together, eyelids fluttering shut; and then her lips form a small silent ‘Oh’ that hollows her cheeks and makes her nose twitch down and her chin dimple—all in this one long flow of motion that reaches its peak only when he’s buried all the way. It’s an expression he’d privately claimed for himself, because he’s never seen her make it for Bucky, and he loves it, _has_ loved it since he first saw it. (It’s one of the things that really stuck with him after that first night with her, one of the things that helped his decision to go see her again.)

He’s a little relieved when she _doesn’t_ make it for Bucky now. Instead, she watches him watch her with widening eyes, biting at her bottom lip and breathing rapidly as he sinks in, her fingers curled and nails digging into his back, her legs sliding up and down like she can’t decide what to do with them, breath hitching once he’s completely seated within her.

“Fuck,” she breathes, staring up at him like she’s never seen him before. “Fuck, James, you’re so fucking _long_ , Jesus Christ.”

Steve grins and nearly laughs, knowing exactly what she means.

Bucky actually does laugh, sounding pleased and even a bit embarrassed, the smug jerk. “Hush, you,” he tells her, leaning in to kiss her. Darcy closes her eyes and responds eagerly, getting her second wind and rolling her hips up to him. Steve gets his hand back around his member just as Bucky hums and pulls back, slow once more, eventually drawing out a sweet moan from her before he’s even done, and then pushing in again just as leisurely.

“Oh my god,” she half-groans, half-sobs. “James, holy shit, don’t— don’t stop, baby, don’t fucking _stop_.”

His soulmate laughs again, simply chuffed this time, and Bucky acquiesces to her plea easily, clearly happy to oblige. He slants a grin at Steve—who rolls his eyes and shakes his head even as he smiles back—and then starts kissing down her throat, teeth bared briefly to scrape over her pulse point and collarbone. Never taking his eyes off them, Steve gives himself a cursory pull, then reaches for the blue bottle on the nightstand when he finds himself more sticky than slick from the wet residue on Darcy’s panties.

On what Steve has subconsciously counted as Bucky’s twenty-fourth push, Darcy cuts off midsentence, gives a low whine, and then goes rigid, her hips tilted up and her head turning into the pillow, muffling her stuttering cries as she tips over the edge and into an orgasm. Steve actually feels himself twitch in his hand, amazed at the never-before-seen reaction and wishing it had been him who had given it to her.

“Don’t hide,” Bucky tells her hoarsely as he presses in as deep as he can and holds himself there, letting her body feel full as she comes around him. “Don’t hide from us, sweetheart. Show us how good you feel.”

“Don’t stop!” she gasps, snapping her face to him to give him a wild-eyed look. “Don’t stop, please—” Bucky resumes moving again, and she gives a small “oh!” that makes her breath hitch, as if him moving again is the best thing that’s ever happened to her. “Oh, yes, that’s it, baby. God, you feel so good inside me, you feel _so_ good inside me,” she whispers, sounding awed, and Steve swallows hard and fists the base of his erection to keep himself from blowing his load too soon when he sees how the words make Bucky close his eyes and shudder. “Fuck, I used to hate slow sex, but you, _god_ , you’re perfect for it, perfect at this. God, I love you, I love everything about you—”

“Fuck,” Bucky whimpers, forehead dipping to rest against hers as his rhythm fluctuates between slow and fast. “Darcy, Christ, you—”

“—to me, you’re so good to me, baby. I love you, James, I love—”

“—amazing—” He stops and sucks in a breath at the sound of his name. “Oh god,” he sobs, tucking his face to the side of hers as he curls closer, body going tense in that familiar manner that signals his release.

Steve holds his breath in to keep from making a sound as he follows his soulmate over the edge, fighting the urge to tip his head back and close his eyes because he doesn’t want to miss a second of this. Of Darcy pressing kisses to Bucky’s cheek and jaw and neck as he comes inside her. Of Bucky moaning as he climaxes and still tries to keep his pace slow for her. Of Darcy trailing her left hand down his arm and Bucky tangling their fingers together and holding them up beside her head on the pillow.

This, he decides, is the moment he’s going to draw later on. It’s beautiful, and tender… and it’s everything romance novelists strive to describe, but this is… _more_.

It’s _pure_. _This_ is lovemaking. And Steve is torn between glee and satisfaction and jealousy and regret, because these two stunning people are _his_ and they’re so obviously happy being together like this and he’s not with them and he’s the one who chose to sit in the chair and just watch them.

Steve burns. He wants to touch them. He regrets his decision.

He floats. He wants this for them. He’s glad that he was able to help give them this moment.

Steve’s happy and sad and delighted and envious all at the same time.

He’s in love. He can wait.

(Steve smiles, realizing that maybe he _is_ a bit of a sexual martyr. But it’s for a good cause, so he’s happy to suffer a little if it leads to moments like these.)

*

He has no idea how long he had her for, his awareness of time skewing for the first time since he became self-aware over a year ago. (The poetic side he hadn’t known existed inside him says it feels like forever passes them by, but it’s still not enough time, not at all. He agrees.)

He claimed and she claimed. He used everything he has in his arsenal, and she used everything _she_ has in her arsenal. (If sex was a battle, and quantity won over quality, Darcy would’ve won that fight with her mouth alone, and he’s not talking about how it _feels_ on his body. As it turns out, Darcy didn’t need filthy words to talk dirty to him.)

(Then again, he hadn’t needed filthy words to talk dirty to her either. Who knew?)

In the end, all he knows is that he had her for a long time, and though he lost track of time, he never once lost track of all the ways he took her body and shook her sanity and consumed her passion, and he’ll never forget all the ways she stole him for herself as well. On her back, on his lap, on all fours, on her side and with him below her—and that’s before they bring the party to Steve and finally include him. They’re exhausted before they’re ready to call it a night, but thanks to Steve’s almost-annoyingly fast refractory period, he and Darcy soon became a pile of sweaty boneless flesh, Darcy even more than him.

Thankfully, Steve’s thrilled and happy to take care of them both afterwards, and he knows (because he’d have done the same) that his soulmate would’ve done it even without the night-long sex marathon they attempted to give him.

When he shifts out of a deep sleep, it’s to the soft familiar noise of Steve sketching on his pad. That he wakes up slowly means that Steve’s been at it for a while, making the scratching sounds soothing instead of alarming. He hums and rolls onto his side, tugging a still-sleeping Darcy close and curling around her, content to breathe her in, the scented soap on her (and his, and Steve’s) skin only slightly overpowering the smell of sex and sweat that’s lingering in the room. He smiles at Steve’s low grumble, then hums again contentedly when his soulmate’s familiar fingers threads through his hair and scritches at his scalp.

He’s shocked to wake up again, still slowly instead of his usual abrupt awareness, but this time, it’s to Darcy sinking her mouth over his already throbbing dick. Her hair is pulled in a messy bun, some strands wet from the shower she’d clearly taken, and her body smells clean and feels a bit cooler than her normal temperature, so he knows at once that she’d showered in her room instead of theirs. She’d not only somehow left the bed and the room without waking him, she’d also managed to roll him onto his back, one hand already on his hip to both brace her up and apparently keep his hips from bucking up to her, the other hand massaging his balls just the way he likes them played with.

This is definitely not a bad way to start the day.

Before giving her his full attention, he gives the room a quick once over, the routine too ingrained in him to ignore. He notes the colorful feminine clothes hanging on the back of the chair and the lack of Steve in the room, and he realizes that he must’ve missed their morning run. Then again, his absence from that is understandable given how long he and Darcy had been at it and how utterly spent he’d been when they all finally gave it a rest. He thinks he hadn’t even woken up when Steve went for his usual mid-night bathroom trip.

Satisfied with their safety, he turns his focus back to her and groans, “Darcy, oh god,” as he watches and feels her press her lips to the base of his cock, moaning with her when she does it with him trapped in her _throat_ , _Jesus fuck_. She looks up at him as best she can, clearly smug and pleased with herself, and he nearly comes right then and there when she just _stays there_ , humming… _something_. He thinks the tune is familiar, but for the life of him, he can’t scramble enough brain cells to figure it out, too busy gaping at her and fighting not to fuck into her amazing mouth. “Don’t you need to breathe?” he finds himself asking, and then whimpers when she freaking chuckles _around him_ , how the _fuck!_

He’s not sure how long she lasted, but he’s rattled and astounded and so fucking impressed that when she finally _does_ come up for air, he immediately tries to pull her up for a hot, needy kiss, intending on fucking that smug look off her face now. But she doesn’t let him, slapping his hand away sharply and pulling her lips back to leave her teeth around him, putting enough pressure to be threatening. Strangely, instead of inspiring fear, the sight only fuels his desire, and she gets that, because on her way _back down_ , she keeps her teeth exposed and lets him see and feel the scrape of them down to the base of his dick before covering them with her lips again.

He shudders and claws at the sheets and _whimpers_ in need, but hell if he’s about to stop her from doing _this_ to _him_.

Finally, she lifts her head up again, takes her lips off of him with a sweet kiss to the head of his cock, then starts sucking at his balls, still humming like his crotch is the best thing she’s ever had in her mouth. If he wasn’t already in love her, he would _completely_ understand why Steve fucking _adores_ her so much after this.

“Fuck, I love you,” he says, and then winces as he realizes how tacky that would sound while she’s got her face to his groin. “I mean, not because you’re doing that. Though I love that too. But I was just thinking that I—”

“You were _thinking?”_ she asks, and he feels himself go weak-kneed at the rasp in her voice, _knowing_ that her throat must be dry because of him being in there, holy _fuck_. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I— water.” He doesn’t even realize these idiotic words are coming out of his mouth until they’re already out there. “You should… have water. Your throat…”

Darcy laughs breathily and bites her lip, moving the hand she has on his hip to tangle their fingers together. “Give me a drink then,” she tells him before wrapping her lips around his tip again, and at any other time, he would’ve laughed at her for saying such a cliché thing.

Right now, he hangs the fuck on as she sucks and slides her talented mouth over his dick until she can swallow his come.

 _Definitely_ not a bad way to start the day.

“Mm, breakfast,” she purrs when his balls have been emptied of their stores, and he laughs at her now, feeling giddy and _alive_.

“You did not just say that,” he says, shaking his head.

“Haters gonna hate,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to both his sacks before leaving butterfly kisses up his softening length, tonguing the slit at the tip when she reaches it like she’s trying to get more out of him.

“Darcy,” he groans, and this time, she lets him thread his fingers through her hair, though he has to stop tugging at her when she doesn’t follow his direction to move up. “Christ, Darcy, how the fuck aren’t you wiped out?”

She shrugs. “I’m always energetic in the morning,” she shares. “Must be all the great sex I’m having.”

“Great sex, huh?” he grins, smug.

“Mm-hm,” she nods. “Steve’s a fucking stud.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “That he is,” he agrees, moaning and tugging carefully at her hair again when she goes back to fucking _worshipping_ his cock. “Darcy… what the hell’s gotten into you today?”

Her smirk answers the question before she actually says the words, “Your cock.”

He smothers a laugh, then chokes on it when she sucks at the head of him like she’s trying to revive him already. “Darcy—”

“I love your cock,” she moans, her words barely coherent because she says them with his dick in her mouth. “Mm, I love—” She pulls off of him with a pop that makes his gut clench at how sexy it was to see and hear. “—how long and beautiful and perfect it is.”

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales, trying not to smile too conceitedly as both his ego and his length (which hasn’t even gone all the way soft yet) start to swell (again) at her words.

“I love how it made me come last night, James,” she says, leveling a serious look at him that doesn’t even get ruined when she swipes her tongue over his tip again. “I’m gonna thank it this morning, and you’re gonna let me.”

“Mary and Joseph,” he mumbles unconsciously, moving his hands back to the sheets so he doesn’t fist or yank at her hair and hurt her. “Darcy, not that I mind, but—”

“No,” he gasps when she slaps his dick against his abdomen, that weak-limbed feeling spreading through him again. “I’m gonna make love to your cock with my mouth, James Buchanan Barnes—” He groans at how fantastic his full name sounds on her lips. “—and you’re gonna lie there and let me.”

“Okay,” he agrees faintly, wondering how he ever managed to deserve this and vowing to thank Steve in a similar manner for finding and falling in love with her, because all this could never have happened if it wasn’t for him. And then— “Wait!” he calls before Darcy can really get started. “Wait, I gotta—” He blushes, and doesn’t realize that he doesn’t bother to hide it from her like he normally does. “I gotta go to the bathroom first.”

Darcy sighs, looking extremely putout, but rolls off of him. “Oh, fine,” she huffs as he shifts off the bed, pausing to press a kiss to her forehead before hurrying off to perform his morning ablutions. He debates doing it all versus just voiding his bladder and washing his hands, but then decides to just do it all, thinking that since he already missed his run with Steve, he should at least cross what he can off his daily checklist. Perhaps he should invite Darcy to shower with him, too.

But when he returns to the bedroom to extend the offer, it’s to find that Steve is back and has Darcy moaning and writhing on the mattress, her hair falling out of its bun and her hands fisting the sheets by her head as a fully-clothed Steve eats her out, noisily slurping and sucking while fucking her with… with _four_ fingers. His throat closes down on a whine, and his feet bring him beside his soulmate without thought, though it’s only when he’s near that he sees Steve has only got two fingers in her pussy, the other two pressed into her pink, glistening asshole. The sight draws a small whimper from him and makes him give his interested, swelling dick a dry tug to relieve the ache that balloons inside him.

“God,” she gasps, her face and torso flushed red from her efforts to grind her body up at Steve and failing due to the arm slung over her hips, holding her down. “God, Steve, don’t stop. Oh, god, don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“Jesus, Darcy,” he exhales, falling to his knees beside Steve to lick at the slick that’s sliding down Steve’s knuckles.

“James,” she groans, her expression twisting as Steve pulls his head away, sinks his fingers as far as they can go and throws his thumb into the mix, rubbing her clit firmly as he turns his head.

“Bucky,” Steve moans, releasing her leg to free his other hand and use it to pull him up for a kiss. He hums happily at the taste of their girl on his soulmate’s mouth and licks in, trying to take the tangy flavor for himself. He’s read somewhere that the food people eat have an effect on how their sex tastes like, and he has no idea how the fuck Darcy can make herself taste so… so damn _good_ , considering he’s aware of what she likes to eat and knows all her favorites are supposed to make her taste ‘bad’ or ‘weird’.

That’s one point lost by Team Science. (Or whatever.)

“I love you,” Steve tells him, tugging at his lower lip and then nipping his chin lightly. “I love you both.”

“We know,” he replies, closing his eyes as Steve kisses down his neck, savoring the affection and the sensations of his soulmate’s lips and breath on his skin. “Steve, we know, we love you too.”

“Get on the bed, Buck,” Steve rumbles, giving him one last kiss on the lips before nodding his head to the woman whimpering and whining on the bed. “Kiss her, touch her for me.”

“Yes, sir,” he murmurs, grinning when Steve’s eyes dilate visibly at the address, then climbs up the bed and trails his hands up Darcy’s belly as he takes her lips with his. Together, he and Steve play with her fantastically responsive body until she falls into an orgasm, and then Steve—the smug, insatiable little punk that he is—slicks his length up with lubricant while telling him to get up against the headboard.

“Darcy said she wants to blow you this morning,” Steve explains as he puts their pillows behind him. “No, wait, give me a pillow.”

It takes some arranging, but in the end, he’s sitting up with Darcy lying on her belly between his legs, a pillow under her hips and Steve naked and straddling her closed thighs.

“Steve?” he frowns upon seeing his soulmate lining himself up against her ass. “Did you—?”

“No,” Steve hums, smirking at him while pressing into her, and Darcy moans around his dick at the intrusion, but not in discomfort, thank god. “No, I didn’t. Tell him, sweetheart.”

Darcy blushes at the request, and he would’ve grinned at the sight of it if Steve hadn’t just told him he didn’t prepare her enough for his cock. (The girl truly is a study of contradictions. She’ll tell him with a serious face that she wants to blow him as thanks for the night they’d had, but will blush at the idea of telling him something.)

(It’s both sexy and fucking adorable.)

Instead of saying anything though, she simply looks pointedly to his left, and he follows her gaze to the nightstand where he discovers that the takeout bags had been hiding a familiar black plug. It shines a little under the gleam of their lights, so he knows that it’s been slicked up, and he gives her an accusing look as he relaxes into the pillows once more.

“You planned this,” he states surely while kicking himself for missing the fact that she had a plug on while blowing him earlier.

She nods and smiles almost bashfully. “Surprise,” she says, kissing his dick again. This somehow seems to restore her confidence, and her entire demeanor shifts from shy to purposeful right before his eyes. “I’m gonna walk around with his come in my ass this morning.”

(Sexy. And Fucking. Adorable.)

Steve releases a shaky breath and leans down, bracing himself on his left hand to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Only for the morning?” his soulmate asks gruffly.

“Mm-hm,” she nods as she gives his tip a brief suck that makes him jerk at the suddenness of the sensation. “My ass has an appointment with James scheduled in the afternoon.”

He swallows back a groan at the _done deal_ tone in her voice. “That’s one appointment I wouldn’t mind going to,” he tells her, making her grin.

“Good,” she hums approvingly, kissing the head of his dick. “Two o’clock, don’t be late.” She then proceeds to make out with the head of his cock, sucking and swirling her lips and letting her teeth gently brush over him, just enough to tease and let him know they’re there. He finally does groan aloud, if only to ease some of the desire that’s racking through his body. “I love the way you taste, baby,” she murmurs as she pulls off briefly to lick down and up his shaft. “If I could make a lollipop out of you, I would.”

He and Steve laugh at the sentiment. “Thanks,” he chuckles, biting his lip when she wiggles her tongue against his frenulum and sucks at it briefly before moving away.

“Steve, baby,” she says, looking over her shoulder at the man in question. “Not that I don’t love having you in my ass, but I need you to move now please.”

Steve kisses her, stealing her mouth away for a few seconds. “I love it when you’re polite, sweetheart,” he tells her, then draws back, straightens up, grasps her hips and _slams_ into her, making her ass cheeks ripple as their skins slap together.

“Fuck, yes!” she cries against his dick before proceeding to ‘make love’ to it.

(They are very, _very_ late for breakfast, but that’s definitely, _totally_ okay, because he gets to make out with Darcy against the kitchen counter while Steve gets her off with his fingers.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, all the feels, so nice and floaty (or at least I think they are?). Anyway, again, tell me if there were triggery stuff up there, so I can apply warnings. Though I really don't think there were, I mean it's all sex and feelings up there, right?
> 
> Anyway, tell me how I did! =D


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels and porn. What else do I serve in this story?

“So,” comes the obviously  _faux_  casual ice breaker, “about last night.”

He gives his soulmate a fondly exasperated look, because  _of course_  Steve would bring this up when they’re in the quinjet traveling at a thousand kilometers per hour. And  _of course_  Steve brings it up after positioning himself by the parachutes, as if to block off his only means of leaving this conversation and landing safely on his feet. Sneaky little punk, using his tactical prowess against him.

“You’re worse than my mamma when she gossips with the neighbors, Steve Rogers.”

“Couldn’t exactly lead with ‘ _have you heard?’_  or ‘ _is it true that…?’_ , could I?”

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head. Too easy. “Oh, man. That brings back memories.”

Just as he predicts, Steve becomes torn with falling down the rabbit hole he’d just unearthed or following the yellow brick road that leads to him telling his soulmate yesterday’s events. And no, it’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Steve (because he’s actually quite eager to share this memory with his other half), it’s just that… well, it had come with a few bumps, and a few secrets that he (and Darcy too, he knows) would rather Steve never learned about. Maybe one day they’ll feel differently and tell their lover the truth behind… well, everything, but today isn’t that day, and he doesn’t think it’ll be tomorrow either, or the day after that, or anytime soon.

Because Steve’s so  _happy_  he’s practically  _glowing_ , even now, when he normally would be grousing and complaining about the top brass that keep summoning him to D.C. under the guise of going through the various SHIELD missions he’d been in (though in reality, they’ve actually been trying to convince Steve to enlist again). He doesn’t want to take that happiness away from his soulmate, nor does he want to upset this new balance between the three of them, not now when it’s still so new and fresh and amazing.

Unfortunately, Steve decides to table the nostalgia and pursue the topic of Last Night, and he has to backpedal when his attempt to deflect the subject again has Steve’s eyes narrowing in suspicion. Knowing that another attempt to divert the discussion might just send Steve sniffing after the  _whole_  story, he gives in and starts talking in a low tone, conscious of Barton and Natalia’s presence in the cockpit. He focuses on the highlights and leaves out the part where he practically attacks her in his anger, sacrificing the mortifying truth of his research into domination play as an explanation for his hesitance to answer, which has Steve biting his lip to keep from laughing.

“See!” he declares, pointing accusingly at his amused soulmate. “This is why I didn’t wanna mention it!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Steve snickers, trying to stop himself but failing at it. “I just… We’ve pretty much been doing it this whole time, Buck. You needed a guide? Just look at what we’ve been doing these past four months.”

“Oh, please,” he snorts, then lowers his voice again. “Like you didn’t go straight to a porn site after I told you about Darcy and her ‘sir’ kink,” he air quotes. “I bet you got off on them, imaginin’ it was us and her doin’ all that stuff. Didn’t you?”

Steve’s cheeks and the tips of his ears go red in embarrassment. “I might’ve gotten some inspiration off of a few websites,” he admits with a guilty grin.

He guffaws and smacks Steve on the back. “Well, save it for later. I promised Darcy we’d do tonight what you wanted to do last night.”

To his surprise, Steve turns serious. “Tonight?” he echoes. “I… Isn’t that a bit too soon? I mean, you two  _finally_  admitted that you love each other. The games can come later, Buck,” he advises. “Enjoy this brand new thing first. Besides,” Steve adds, as the quinjet does a turn that tilts them leftward for a few moments, “it gives us something to look forward to in the future.”

He gnaws on that thought as they land, and then pushes it away to focus on his mission of watching Steve’s back and protecting him from any danger.

After his fellow assassins—excuse him,  _former_  assassins—clear the room of threats to the captain’s safety, he stands with them in the hall while Steve goes in and goes through the by-now-familiar motions of attending this sort of meeting. Normally, it takes Steve over an hour to get out of there, too polite to tell the brass to shove their shit back up their asses and leave him alone. Today is no different.

“I hate doing this,” Steve grumbles, exuding annoyance pulling his cowl off as soon as the quinjet is traveling back to New York without incident. “I’d rather get mauled by paparazzi.”

“I know, punk,” he says sympathetically, patting his soulmate on the shoulder. “Do you want me to make you feel better?”

Steve huffs a laugh, lightening up. “Not in front of Nat and Clint.”

He laughs as well, because sex (or a form of it, at least) wasn’t what he had in mind. Their uniforms come with jock cups, so palming him through the pants won’t work, nor would it be easy to pull his cock out. Still— “But we’re behind them,” he points out with a grin, moving his hand to squeeze Steve’s knee, though he’s not surprised when Steve stops him with a small grunt.

“Later,” his other half says, and he gives an exaggerated sigh.

“Oh, fine,” he replies. “Come lie on my lap then.” Steve brightens and shifts away immediately so he can lie down, humming once he feels bare fingers running through his hair.

As he helps Steve dull the frustration he’s feeling, he returns to the idea of postponing the ‘sir’ thing once more. By the time they land at the tower, he’s made up his mind to ask her to save the games for future nights, agreeing with Steve’s idea of enjoying the new dynamic between him and Darcy. He doesn’t want her to think that he loves her solely for the sex—like he said, he wants to get to know her as a person, not just as a lover. He wants her to know that he doesn’t just want her on her knees or on her back or on his lap, wants her to know that she can stand with them, equal to them.

Well, unless she refuses to set it aside again. He’d promised her he’d do it, after all, and he doesn’t want to disappoint, or make her think she has no say in what happens between them.

 _Communication_ , he reminds himself as he accompanies his companions to their shared floor,  _is key to having a successful relationship_.

After storing his gear and changing his clothes, he tells Steve he’s going down to see Darcy, because there’s no point in delaying and telling her about it later. “Do you want me to go with you?” Steve asks.

“Nah, I got this,” he replies. He was a little overconfident though, because the moment he sets foot in the lab, he starts to doubt whether he does, indeed, have it in hand.

It doesn’t help that Darcy is nowhere to be seen.

Before he can retreat and ask JARVIS where she is (which is what he should’ve done in the first place, actually), Foster looks up from her work with Darcy’s name on her lips, only to pause when she sees him instead. “Oh hey, Barnes,” Foster greets him cheerfully, looking gleeful to see him in the lab. The woman doesn’t seem to care that he’s found his soulmate and is in a relationship already—she’s clearly still hoping that he’d sweep Darcy off her feet and away from ‘the boyfriend’ she and the others (minus Natalia, Barton and Banner, who already know) have yet to identify. If she knew the truth, she’d be blocking his path into the lab and glowering at him for hurting her so-called best friend.

Some friend  _she_  is to Darcy though. He doesn’t need his girl to tell him (not that she tells him about it at all) what she’s going through with her employer, because it’s right there—in her expressions and her words and her movements—for him to notice. The stress on her face when she herds her ‘pet scientists’ into the dining room for dinner and the tension in her body when he touches her for the first time at night tells him all about it.

Just a short while ago, he used to not care whether she came to them with a weight on her shoulders and her muscles brunched up like she’s about to leave and escape the life she’s living. Now he’s joined Steve in doing his best to ease her worries, to forget her troubles and focus on them and help make her feel good.

Her worries and troubles, in this case, being Dr. Jane Foster, who’s smiling expectantly at him.

(He half-wishes he could justify stabbing her in the hand while telling her to leave Darcy the fuck alone, just to get his point across and make it very,  _very_  clear to her that he hates how she’s treating her ‘friend’.)

(He half-wishes he could just let the Winter Soldier out so he has an alibi for roughing her up while telling her to leave Darcy the fuck alone.)

(Then again, his alter ego wouldn’t care about Darcy, would he? She was ‘The Intruder’ to him after all, and he couldn’t risk the Winter Soldier going after Steve, who was still recognized as ‘The Mission’ whenever his other persona wanders close to his consciousness.)

“Looking for Darcy?” she adds.

 _Suck it up_ , he tells himself. “Yes,” he replies. “Do you know where she is?”

Jane points to the floor. “Lower levels, getting lunch,” she answers readily, still smiling. “JARVIS would know what floor she’s on. Oh hey,” she tacks on, “why don’t you join us? I’m sure she’d love to have someone to talk to whose default conversation topic isn’t ‘Science!’” She uses air quotes on the last word, and he nearly winces as he remembers doing the same earlier during his conversation with Steve.

Ah, Steve. “I’d love to,” he tells her, keeping his mirth to just a polite smile instead of a smug, knowing grin. “I’ll go find her and help her buy enough to feed another two super-soldiers.”

Her smile freezes on her face, her expression betraying her feelings at the thought of having Steve join them as well, and he wonders whether that’s because his soulmate had told her off a few days ago, or because she finally realized that if he actually  _does_  pursue Darcy romantically, Steve would be right in the middle of their potential relationship too. If it’s for the latter reason that Foster goes stiff and uncomfortable, then she’s probably realized what kind of situation she’s hoping Darcy would fall into and was, perhaps, worried about what that would mean for Darcy. (Because although modern America has become much more open-minded—and indeed supportive—of same-sex soulmates falling into a romantic relationship, it still isn’t as approving of the idea of a third person  _joining_  said relationship.)

(But they’re apparently perfectly all right with the idea of two men finding a woman to be a surrogate and two women searching for a man to act as a sperm-donor when they wanted to form a family.)

(Modern America, for all its scientific and technological advancements, can be so fucking narrow-minded about these kinds of things.)

If it’s for the former reason though, then he will, by all means, thoroughly enjoy flirting with both Steve and Darcy and watching the meddlesome woman squirm in her seat.

“Thanks, doc,” he salutes her sloppily, widening his grin as he steps back out the door and reenters the elevator. “JARVIS, you know where Darcy is?”

“Miss Lewis is on the twenty-fifth floor, sir,” comes the reply, and JARVIS rattles off the name of an Indonesian restaurant that he knows is one of Thor’s favorites, which tells him that Thor will be present at lunch too. “Shall I take you there?”

“Please,” he nods, then debates asking the A.I. to ask Steve if he’s okay with eating at the lab.  _Later_ , he thinks, because he doesn’t want to tell Steve one thing and then take it back later on like the way he’s about to do with Darcy, especially since there’s a chance that she’ll be upset about postponing their plans  _again_.

He finds her easily, spotting her in a knit cap and that one jacket she owns that have sleeves going past her hands. There’s a thin bulge on her left wrist that he knows is her panic bracelet ( _good girl_ , he thinks, pleased she’s taking precautions even inside the tower), her left hand is making a fist inside its covering—holding her phone, he thinks, because the way her right hand is tucked into her bag suggests that she’s holding something in there too, and her taser would be more easily hidden there. She’s standing with her back to a wall, scanning the crowd attentively, though she’s not in the prime position to keep her eyes on everyone at once (but then again, she wasn’t trained for that, was she?), so her head keeps swiveling in a manner that would be obvious to someone like him.

He exhales at the sight of her in such a state of awareness, both glad and sad that she’s taking such precautions. He’s seen enough civilians to know how inattentive they can be to their surroundings, and he can’t help but want to be the one who looks out for danger for her and let her have that same happy ignorance everyone else does.

He keeps walking towards her and doesn’t have to wait long for her to spot him, her focus narrowing on him barely a second after she sweeps her gaze in his direction, and he smiles at the honest and surprised confusion that flits over her face as she tries to determine whether she is or isn’t really hallucinating him walking towards her and  _why_  she would hallucinate him walking towards her. And then she realizes that no, she’s  _not_  imagining things, he really  _is_  there, and he’s pleased to see that her reaction that is delighted surprise. As she watches his approach, she begins to relax—her eyes brightening, her lips curling up, her body losing tension and her grip on her phone easing—and both a fond warmth and a heavy heat rushes through his body as he sees the way that she slowly stops paying attention to anything else but him, sees her entrusting her safety to him, ceding the effort of looking out for herself because she knows now that he’d never let any harm come to her.

And he will. He swears it while taking up the task she’s left to him, vetting the people around her and the ones walking nearest her to figure out which ones are watching her and determine whether they’re dangerous to her safety. (The three men two tables over on her left shoot her several curious glances and comment quietly to themselves. A large-breasted blonde sitting with two other women in the table behind those men eyes her disdainfully and whispers something behind her hand. A teenager passing by points her breasts out discreetly to his friend. These are the only ones who pay her any attention, and none of them pose an immediate threat to her safety.)

There was something empowering about it, about the notion of  _taking care of her_  this way, and it doesn’t even occur to him to  _not_  put his arm—his metal arm—over her right shoulder and down her back to tuck her to his side when he finally slides into the space she makes for him, letting him put his back to the wall too as he casts his gaze farther, now scrutinizing those on the opposite side of the room for anyone watching her. (None that he can see, which is good. People watching from afar means there’s  _intention_ , means an almost-certain threat to her safety.)

His heart swells when she leans into him, sliding her right hand under his jacket and fitting herself against him, not even pausing when she presses against the gun at his side or when her hand brushes against the knife tucked to his back. (Later, he’ll smirk a little when he notices the blonde’s face has gone flat with envy, and will be half-surprised when he catches the three men openly admiring  _him_.)

“Hey, doll,” he says, and then freezes, his question about why she’s buying lunch so early disappearing from his thoughts as he realizes what he’s just called her  _again_. “Damn it.”

“Forget about it,” she shakes her head, smiling up at him, not even looking perturbed at his slip. “What are you doing here?” She slants a sly grin at him. “It’s not two o’clock yet.”

He smiles. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there,” he tells her, and is rewarded with a shiver that he feels against his left side and hip. And then he braces himself. “If you still want me to come see you after this conversation.”

She tilts her head. “What’s up?” she asks guilelessly.

He grimaces slightly and starts to say his piece.

(Luckily, she takes it better than he expected, and he does, indeed, make it to his two o’clock meeting.)

*

She isn’t freaking out because he’d surprised her earlier with what he said about saving the ‘games’ for later (though he  _had_  surprised her when he said he wanted to ‘explore this new dynamic with her’ first, and looked very much like he really, really means it). It’s more because of the way she had outright forgotten all the reasons she shouldn’t have let him touch her the way he had, familiar and intimate and affectionate, even if only for just a few minutes.

They’d been in public, where  _anyone_  and  _everyone_  can see them. There were cameras  _everywhere_ , and JARVIS’s privacy protocols did  _not_  extend beyond the Avengers’ private floors. But she hadn’t remembered any of that, hadn’t been able to  _think_  simply because she’d been transfixed by him looking at her with that intense look on his face. She’d actually half-expected him to swoop in and kiss her, press her up against the wall and take her right then and there.

The worst part is that with her in that state of mind, she thinks she might’ve let him, might’ve even  _welcomed_  it.

Dear god, she’s gone nuts. She’s officially crazy, has seriously lost her mind ( _they’ve fucked my brains out of me_ , she thinks hysterically), because this? This was  _the worst idea_  she has ever,  _ever_  had.

She doesn't  _deserve_  this. She doesn’t deserve  _them_. She's too damaged, too damn sick in the head to be worthy of them and until she gets better—

No. No, there is no 'until she gets better'. She can't be that selfish, can't be that self-absorbed. Steve and Barnes... they wouldn't—shouldn't—wait for her to get better. She can't do that to them.

And there’s only one way to keep that from happening.

She needs to end this whole arrangement.  _Now_ , before the elevator reaches the lab floor and she runs out of time. Darcy opens her mouth to do just that.

And promptly shuts it again when no sound emerges from her throat.

She startles a little when Barnes speaks up. “JARVIS, hold the elevator for us and activate privacy protocols, please.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS replies as Barnes sets the food down on the floor.

“Hey,” he smiles, straightening and tilting her head up so he can look at her. “Where were you just now?”

“Darcyland,” she replies promptly, and he blinks and gives her a knowing look.

“Is this about earlier?” he asks, brushing her hair back and caressing her cheek with his thumb. “At the restaurant?”

What! How did he  _know_  that! “I—” she hesitates, trying to think of another reason to give him, but her brain fails to formulate a different plausible story. “Yeah,” she admits, anxiety gripping her as the truth leaves the safety of her lips. “It’s not that I didn’t like it, I just…”

“I know,” he nods, the knuckles of his right hand gliding up her jaw before he cups her cheek, thumb brushing lightly over her cheekbone. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that too, tryin’ to figure out how to apologize to you.”

Oh. “It’s okay,” she shakes her head, though she’s relieved that he got it, that he’d become aware of it, at least. “I… I was right there with you, you know.”

“I know,” he nods again. “But I’m not… I mean, I’m sorry I’ve made you worry about being found out,” he amends slowly, like he’s still trying to figure out what to say. “I know you like having your privacy, and I understand why you do. But…” He gives her a wary look. “I’m not sorry that I did it. Holdin’ you close like that, lettin’ others see us together that way—I really liked it. I’m not saying we  _should_  do it,” he backpedals with a wince, “m’just sayin’ that…” He sighs with a hint of defeat. “That I liked it. It felt nice. That’s all.”

She shouldn’t find his clumsy attempts at communicating adorable. But she kinda really does.

“I get it,” she smiles, touching her hand to the one he has on her face. “And I liked it too. But it can’t happen again—”

“Okay,” he agrees quickly, both hands cupping her cheeks now. “Darcy, this is your car. You drive it however fast you want, however loud you want it. If it’s slow and quiet that you want, then that’s what you’ll get. Engine’s gonna purr for you either way.”

Darcy tries, but she can’t hide the smile that blooms on her face. “I like your metaphors.”

“Say that to Steve later, okay?” he grins.

“Deal,” she agrees, leaning up to meet him for a kiss.

That, it turns out, was a mistake, because it’s not long until they’re backed up into a corner, Barnes pushing her pants down and Darcy undoing his own jeans as they kiss frantically. She can’t explain it, because she’s been sleeping with him for months now and he’s never made her want him this badly before, but she does. She wants him  _all the time_  now, and while she knows she’d been the same way with Steve, it feels different with Barnes.

Steve had been… an obsession. Something to fill the hole that had been carved into her. A hunger and a need that was sparked upon first encounter and fueled by the nights that came after.

Barnes is like… like an itch she can’t get rid of. A buzzing in her ear that she swats at and forgets about for a few moments before the buzzing starts up again. He’s started a fire under her skin and he’s the only one who can put it out, but it keeps coming back again and again.

Or maybe she’s overthinking this, blowing things out of proportion. Maybe the way she feels about Barnes is the same way she had felt about Steve, when they were still shiny and new to each other. Either way, it’s Barnes who’s here now, digging his fingers into the flesh of her ass cheeks and—

“Where is it?” he asks, pulling away from her lips. “The plug?”

“Oh,” she leans her head against the wall, blinking. “I took it out before I went to get food. Cleaned up.” She flushes as embarrassment creeps over her. “I didn’t want to be a mess for you later.”

His face softens, though she can see disappointment in the lines of his face. “Mm, too bad,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead and training kisses down to her jaw, and then under it. “Wanted to make more of a mess in you, see Steve’s and my come inside you, fillin’ you up.”

She grasps the lapels of his jacket and keens as he slides a wet finger over her clit. “Yes,” she hisses, his words swiftly sending her mind to that filthy place where all her dirty fantasies litter every available corner. “Unh, m'sorry. I—ah!—I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”

“Always want to be inside you,” he rumbles against her neck, enunciating each word clearly. “Always want you. If I could keep you with me and Steve all day, I would. Can’t get you outta my head, darlin’.”

“I don’t think I can have sex all day,” she says faintly, though she feels a ‘YES PLEASE!’ tingle through her at the idea of staying in bed with him and Steve, lazing around and getting orgasms whenever they want.

“Doesn’t have to be for sex, sweetheart,” he murmurs, though the way he slides his fingers into her kind of says otherwise. “I could just stand at the foot of the bed and stare at you. I can be creepy like that.” She laughs, recognizing the reference and sort of wanting to hit him for it, but also kiss him at the same time. “Mm, I could draw you. M’not as good as Steve is, but I can do a mean Picasso.”

“Oh my god,” she snorts, and gasps when he taps at that spot inside her. “Oh my god, change the subject.”

“I wanna fuck you in this elevator, Darcy Lewis,” he obliges her, then latches onto that spot under her jaw that never fails to make her body clench up and her knees shake and weaken at the same time. “And I really hope you’ll let me.”

“Better,” she chokes out, eyes squeezing shut as he gives her skin a teasing suck and rubs her clit at the same time. “Oh god, James…”

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against her skin. “Gonna come for me? Here? Spread the sweet smell of your pussy in this metal box? Mm, I can’t wait for Steve to get on it. Enhanced senses, you know. He’ll smell you, and it’ll drive him cra—”

She cries out softly as she comes, his words and his touch enough to carry her through. She can barely kiss him back when he lands one on her, and her legs feel boneless when he tugs her back and bends her over, putting her hands on the railing and lining himself up to her core.

“Tempted to fuck your ass, kitten,” he murmurs as he slides the tip of his cock over her clit and up to the place that felt so hungry for him, and she mewls as the pet name reminds her of yesterday morning, of how they’d called her theirs, made her say she was theirs, and remembers how addicting it felt to admit it, how free and chained down she felt at the idea that she  _belongs_  to them. “But that’s for later, isn’t it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses, letting her head fall forward limply, loving the way he feels as he presses slowly into her. Sex with Ja— with Barnes has always been quick and fast and dirty and furious, so she’s never really noticed how  _long_  he really is. She’d noticed it when she first got on her knees for him, of course, but… the slow slide in  _really_  emphasizes it, just like it emphasizes how  _thick_  Steve is when he’s the one pushing into her body. “Oh, god, baby, I love this. Fuck, I love your cock.”

“Loves you too,” he breathes, and she laughs with him. “How do you want it, Darce? We gonna hold up this elevator forever? M’sure JARVIS won’t mind.”

“No,” she moans. “No, fuck me, Barnes. I want—  _Ah!”_  she yelps, the sting of his slap unexpected.

“I told you, in this very elevator, to call me James,” he murmurs, massaging the skin he’d made sensitive. “Remember?”

She grins and bows her back upward, stretching her body and clenching around him. “And here, I thought we were saving the games for ‘later’.”

His face presses against her back, just over her shoulder blade. “Right. Sorry. I forgot.”

“Nonononono, it’s okay,” she spits out immediately. “Do it, spank me again, tell me to do things, fuck! Don’t tease me like that, it’s mean.”

“Shh,” he tells her, nails raking from her exposed thigh to her right cheek. “Maybe later, when I fuck your ass.”

“Tease,” she grumbles, then whines when his hand comes down on her ass again. “Oh! Oh, again.”

“Ask me nicely,” he murmurs quietly, and she moans and presses back into him, the words cutting it close to that thing he said he wants to wait to do.

Darcy smiles and decides to test the waters. “Please spank me again,  _sir_.”

“Jesus, Darcy,” he growls, startled, but he gives her ass a smack anyway before pulling her up and pushing her until she’s almost flat against the wall, the railing she’s still hanging onto pressed unyieldingly against her hips, keeping her slightly bent. “Ask me nicely to fuck you, kitten,” he says, testing her back.

Good thing Darcy absolutely  _hates_  failing tests.

She roves through her vocabulary for a quick moment, looking for something that’ll whet his appetite and make him regret suggesting they not play this game for a while. She almost laughs when she remembers what he said earlier and figures out how to get that reaction from him.

“James,” she moans, rocking back into him, “ _sir_ , fuck my pussy, please? It’s always happy to have your cock, just like my little asshole loves having you fuck it. They’re both  _so_  hungry for your come. Oh, god, please come inside me, sir? I love it when y _mph!”_

He yanks her hair back and turns her face to him, chest rumbling against her shoulders and upper back as he slants his lips over hers, silencing her as he finally pulls back and slams his hips against her in fast, furious,  _full_  strokes that have her grunting and crying against his mouth within a few short moments. Her hands grip the railing tightly for dear life, her breasts bounce slightly in her shirt and slide up and down along the wall, rubbing her nipples against the firm surface and the frustratingly near-frictionless fabric of her bra. Combined with the way he grips her hair and the air she can’t quite get with her nose pressed to his cheek and his lips covering hers? Darcy feels herself go light-headed with pleasure and… and  _something else_  she can't define.

She thinks he’s doing his very best to give her what she’d asked for.

She is  _perfectly_  okay with that.

Finally, he releases her lips and loosens his grip, and she lets her head fall forward against the wall with a dull  _thunk_ , wheezing as she pants for breath, which is unfair because he doesn’t sound like he’s run a damn marathon when he moans, “Your fucking  _mouth_ , Darcy, Jesus Christ,” to her.

“I love you,” she gasps, and he gives a little noise that shoots straight to her nub.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sliding his metal hand into the space between the railing and the wall to reach down past her belly and pull her mound up, stretching her clit up and away from the slight nudges of the head of his cock.

She whines unhappily at the loss. “No, please, let it go, baby, I need—”

“Shhh, I gotcha, doll, I gotcha,” James tells her, and then he lets go of her skin, her clit  _snapping_  back into place and timing it just right so that she feels him drag his cock against the spot inside her at the same moment. The sensations tear through her and steal her mind away, and on his next thrust, she comes unexpectedly, wailing against the wall, and only vaguely registers him continuing to thrust into her, faster and just a touch harder as he chases his own release.

Darcy has no idea how much time passes, but he’s put her clothes back on her and fixed himself up too when she finally comes back to herself, still pressed against the railing, as if she’d moved back after he fixed her pants for her.

“Back with me now?” he asks smugly, and hell, he deserves to be.

“Fuck me  _sideways_ ,” she breathes, keeping her forehead pressed to the wall.

“Later,” he promises, kissing her on the shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist, making her hum and close her eyes and lean into him, lazily enjoying the feeling of security his embrace gives her. “Now let’s go clean up. We’ve already delayed lunch long enough.”

She hums again and tries not to decide to leave her workload and pull him to bed and  _thank him_  for such an amazing orgasm.  _Later_ , she tells herself as the elevator starts moving again.

(Later turns out to be that afternoon anyway, and Darcy doesn’t get  _any_  work done today at all.)

*

Steve would like to state, for the record, that he had been very much willing to let Bucky go see Darcy alone for their two o’clock meeting.

That said, he doesn’t regret letting himself be pulled along to her room and joining them for an afternoon romp. Especially when the first thing they see is Darcy naked and playing with herself, her fingers buried in her core and her other hand driving the black plug in and out of her body.

“Now aren’t you glad I dragged you here?” Bucky asks, grinning as he pushes Steve further into the room and closes the door behind him.

“Steve!” Darcy gasps as her feverish gaze finds him. “Steve, help me, please.”

Yes to that. All the yes.

Steve doesn’t bother with his clothes, just climbs on the bed, pins her hands to her sides and leans in, dipping his tongue into her slightly opened slit and licking the flavor of her into his mouth. He hears his lovers exchange a kiss as Bucky takes her right hand from his grip, and Darcy tugs her other hand free so she can start opening Bucky’s jeans. His hands freed, Steve grasps her squirming hips and stills them as he moves his mouth higher to suckle at her clit.

“God!” Darcy shouts, jerking bodily, her left hand abandoning its task to thread its fingers through his hair and keep him where he is. She needn’t bother—Steve has every intention of feeling her come against his mouth.

And to think, it’s barely been thirty seconds since they entered the room.

“I like your initiative,” Bucky says. “Got half a mind to make this a rule. Darcy Lewis should be naked and masturbating at all times.”

She laughs, and it ends in a groan, and Steve glances up to see that Bucky has taken her fingers into his mouth, sucking on them altogether before starting in on them individually. “I hope you mean while in bed, because that—ah!—that would make things awkward if ev—oh  _god!_ —if everyone could s-see,” she gasps, pushing herself onto him as he swipes his tongue over her folds again and again.

“Of course I mean while in bed,” Bucky says, licking at the pad of her middle finger. “You think I’d let anyone else see how gorgeous you are like this? You’re  _ours_ , sweetheart. Mine and Steve’s. No one else’s.”

“God, yes,” she moans, rolling her hips.

“Mm, and don’t you forget it,” he murmurs, leaning in again to kiss her, hard and possessive, and Steve matches the claim with his own actions. He readjusts his hold and slings his left arm over her belly, then slips the first two fingers of his right hand into Darcy’s wet slit, stopping at just the right depth to tap at the spot he knows must be swollen and sensitive by now. He’s rewarded with a wordless, muffled shout from Darcy, who lifts her knees to her chest wantonly and comes on his mouth and around his fingers. “That’s it,” Bucky murmurs, pulling back to give them the full effect of her cries. “That’s it, come for us, doll.”

“God!” Darcy calls with heartfelt relief. “Oh god, Steve, yes, don’t stop.”

Bucky exhales and pecks her on the lips one last time, then leans away from them to get a clear look. Steve—inspired by the many times he’s had to watch them together—starts to rub little circles over her spot, leaving enough pressure to let her know he’s still there, but not giving it hard enough to make her really  _feel_  it.

“Steve, no!” she gasps, her other hand joining its twin on his head. “Nonono, please, don’t do that, I want more, I need more, plea—” She cuts herself off to groan when he slides in a third finger, stretching her further as he stops sucking to flick his tongue over her hard bud. “Fuck,” she whispers, body bouncing slightly as she plants her feet back on the mattress. “Steve, please, suck me again, fuck me with your fingers, please, c’mon, I want to come again, I need you to give me more, I need more to come again.”

Specifics? She’s getting desperate already. She whines as he pulls his lips off of her to ask, “How long have you been playing with yourself before we came in?”

“Not long,” she answers, trying to yank him carefully back to her muff. “Not long but  _please_ , Steve,  _c’mon!”_  He grins and kisses the top of her mound, then gets his mouth around her as much as he can and gives her a long, hard suck. She arches up, head tilting back, mouth falling open, hands fisting his hair painfully, but she doesn’t come, and when he stops, she collapses on the bed with a whine of disappointment. “ _Goddamn it,_   _Steve!”_  she snarls, frustrated and about to cross over into furious territory.

He moves back, slides his fingers out of her, and gives her a gently-applied, but still-firm slap between the legs, and her body jerks in surprise as he slips his fingers back in and starts to pound them against her, hitting her clit and dragging over the spot that he’d been fondling inside her.

She shouts again, coming this time, her walls squeezing around him tightly.

“Impressive,” Bucky notes, his voice coming from a few feet away. Steve hadn’t even noticed he’d moved off the bed until now.

“Yes, she is,” he agrees, bending back down to suck her now-throbbing bud, matching his rhythm to the pulsing he can feel until she relaxes onto the bed, limp and sated.

“Hohmygod,” she exhales, sounding overwhelmed already. “Steve, you asshole.”

He laughs. “Sorry,” he tells her, leaning up to kiss her. She returns his kiss lazily, still in the grips of her post-orgasm high, and she doesn’t even tense up or try to catch herself when he wraps his arms around her and rolls them so that she’s on top of him. “Happy?”

“Almost,” she mumbles. “Mm, can I blow you while James fucks me?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” he replies, amused that she even asked.

“I heard my name,” Bucky says, climbing back onto the bed, naked now.

Darcy points to the nightstand closest to her. “Lube,” she says, and Bucky reaches for the small violet bottle.

“Jeez, Darcy, how many bottles of lubricant do you own?” he asks, popping the cap open and pouring the substance over the head of his hard length.

“Two,” she murmurs, rousing enough to push up and shimmy down Steve’s body, her hands making quick work of his jeans. “That’s my last bottle. You guys have the other one upstairs. Mm, hello there,” she tells his erection as it pops out when she pulls his underwear down.

Steve smacks a hand to his face and can’t help but laugh, embarrassed and amused at the same time.

“Oh, shut up, you,” she says to him, rolling her eyes as she takes his member in hand and angles him up, then presses her face to his crotch and hums against him. Steve jerks and puts his hands to the mattress, face flushing as he hears her breathe him in. She does it every time, and he gets over it eventually, but it’s still a little embarrassing at first, even though he makes sure to clean himself up so that he doesn’t smell bad down there. She hums approvingly though, and he figures she wouldn’t do that if she didn’t like it, and that restores his confidence.

(He’s eighty-five percent sure she does it to make him feel that way in the first place, feeling consecutively weak-limbed and mortified and better about himself.)

She’s just sinking her mouth around him when Bucky feeds his length into her ass, and her moan travels down his shaft and spreads through him, making him moan too.

“Steve,” his soulmate says as he continues to press slowly inside her, dropping the plug beside him on the mattress, “put your hands on her head. Don’t let her talk, hm?”

“With,” his breath hitches as Darcy whines in protest, “with pleasure.”

Darcy grunts and shoots him a look that plainly says ‘really, Steve?’, and Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes at him before starting to move. Unlike Steve this morning, Bucky takes her slowly, the bed (which was feeble compared to the solid metal frame they’d gotten after breaking their wooden one during their first, ah,  _reunion)_  barely even moving underneath them. Darcy either loves or hates Bucky for the pace he’s set, because she’s groaning around Steve and writhing and pushing back as best she can, trying to get him to go faster.

_SMACK!_

“Hm-mngh-gngh,” Darcy moan-sobs around him, and only Steve’s hands on her hair and nape keeps her from pulling off of him completely.

“Stop moving,” Bucky tells her, massaging the abused area. “You weren’t this naughty when Steve was fucking your ass this morning. Where’s that good girl who made love to my dick with her mouth?” Steve moans as she somehow growls around his length and bucks back, and she keens when Bucky spanks her again. “Stop moving or I won’t get you off until tonight.”

Darcy freezes instantly and sucks in a breath through her nose, closing her eyes and whimpering at the condition.

“Good girl,” Bucky tells her, leaning down to kiss her left shoulder blade, burying himself deep and keeping still against her as he does. “God, I really do love how your ass feels around my dick. Squeeze it for me, darlin’—” He groans and grinds into her, making her grunt and moan too. “—good girl. Think you can make me come like that? Just squeezing around me?”

She whines, squirming once more and shaking her head. Steve has to agree, predicting that Darcy would wear herself out before—

… _oh_. Steve grins back at Bucky, who nods at him and mouths ‘Next time’ with a smug grin. “No?” he asks. “Too bad. But that’s okay. I like fucking into your tight little hole anyway.” And then Bucky pulls back and slams into Darcy, who cries out and actually gags on Steve’s thickness for the first time in a long while.

Steve takes his hands off of her instantly to let her pull away, but she just dives back down after taking a breath and swearing, so he relaxes and lets his head drop back against the wooden frame of her bed, enjoying the moment and the sight of his other half pounding into her, making the bed creak in a rhythmic, ominous way. “Don’t break the bed,” he reminds Bucky.

“I got it,” Bucky huffs. “You break the bed  _one_  time and he never lets you forget it.” The comment makes Darcy laugh around his length, and the vibrations make Steve groan and shift, trying to fight the urge to thrust his hips up. “Mm, go on, Steve, fuck her mouth,” Bucky encourages. “Fuck her with me, c’mon.”

She moans and shifts onto her hands, giving him enough room to work with, and with a lustful shudder, Steve braces himself on his back, grips the sheets tightly and rolls his hips up to her, watching his length slide in until her lips touch the base of his erection. “God, Darcy,” he breathes, pulling back and pushing in again, gradually picking up speed, tossing his head back when she starts to moan.

Darcy comes again before they do, Bucky reaching down to toy with her clit, and he and Bucky quickly follow her over the edge. Caught up in her own orgasm, Darcy isn’t able to swallow all of him down, and seeing his seed spilling down both her chin and his member is almost enough to give him a second wind immediately after. As it is, the image she makes when she laps at his crotch to collect his leavings—coupled with the sight of Bucky kissing around the swell of her buttocks as he fits the plug back inside her—nearly keeps him in a hardened state.

“There you go,” Bucky murmurs, and Darcy gives a sweet little gasp when he presses a kiss to the base of the plug. “Good?”

“Yes,” she breathes, lashes fluttering as she closes her eyes and savors whatever else Bucky is doing to her. “Yes, thank you.”

Bucky groans and visibly bares his teeth to bite at her left cheek, making her yelp and groan too. “Stop being so damn sexy,” his soulmate tells her, “or we’re not letting you leave this room again.”

She shudders, looking like she wouldn’t mind that in the least, but her sense of responsibility clearly wins out, because she shakes her head and pulls back, gingerly straightening up. “I need to shower,” she says, then laughs. “I’m probably the only person in America who takes more than one shower a day.” Steve clears his throat pointedly and gestures to himself and Bucky. “Ah, true,” she nods, then bites her lip as she knee-walks off the bed, trying and failing not to make a sound.

Bucky sighs. “Oh, come here,” he says, rolling off the bed and carrying her into the bathroom.

Steve smiles and follows them, not wanting to miss a moment, and that second wind he’d been warily anticipating comes to life as Bucky helps her wash and ends up screwing her with him. The two of them take her in the tub together, Darcy’s lovely cries echoing against the tiled walls as they stretch her and drive her over twice before emptying themselves inside her.

“Twice the load,” Bucky comments smugly, and Darcy swats him weakly on the shoulder for it. “We should get one for your pussy,” he murmurs, catching her hand and pinning it against the wall behind Steve. “Keep you full on both sides. On all ends if we could, really.”

“Christ, James,” she shudders.

They take another shower—just a quick wash down this time, where Bucky puts the plug back before his seed can escape her—and then towel off and retreat to Darcy's bed.

“Jane’s gonna kill me for disappearing on her,” Darcy murmurs as she curls into his side for a change.

“Don’t worry about Jane,” Steve tells her, kissing the top of her head and relishing in the chance to be the one to hold her as she sleeps. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Don’t yell at her again,” she mumbles.

“I won’t yell at her again,” he promises.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Bucky says, kissing her shoulder. “You earned it.”

She hums and drops off to sleep.

Steve, though not really tired (he’s never really tired, not unless he’s been fighting), follows her into sleep.

(Later, he’ll discover that Bucky doesn’t go to sleep, goes to the lab instead and tells Jane he’s stolen Darcy for the afternoon. Jane is thrilled and doesn’t mind at all.)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes a few purchases, and I think you know what that means. Bucky and Darcy clear something up. Dinner is ambushed by everyone. And then angst. So much angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, LONGEST CHAPTER YET, because I honestly couldn't break anything up in here. So wow, I can't believe all the words even fit.
> 
> This chapter totally fried my brain. I was going to say 'that's why it took so long', but then I say the date of my last posted chapter, and now I can't believe I even managed to finish it within a week. WOW.
> 
> WARNINGS: PORN, Feels with Porn, Fluffy friendship feels, and then angsty relationship discussion.
> 
> Also, tragic backstory mentioning stillborn children and descriptive car accidents. Please be forewarned.
> 
> God, I hope this chapter is worth it.

The day after they spend the afternoon in Darcy’s room, Steve finds himself at an online sex shop looking at vagina plugs. He also finds himself remembering the first time he did this, that time after Darcy revealed her drawer full of sex toys, and is reminded of why Bucky had looked so embarrassed when he told Steve about him looking up domination play online.

Because it was, in fact, _embarrassing_.

Hot and pretty liberating in a perverse way, but still embarrassing.

So it turns out that searching for ‘vagina plugs’ leads to things that make Steve grateful that he’d been born male. There is also no such thing as a ‘vagina’ plug, since butt plugs apparently aren’t strictly just for the butt.

After kicking around several shops and researching other things, Steve realizes that he’d filled his online cart with sex toys that amount to over five hundred dollars and thinks he would’ve had a heart attack if he could. He unloads his cart, selects two plugs of different sizes and material, and then, after a moment of consideration, adds a cock ring in Bucky’s size as well. (He’d have gotten one for himself too, but remembers that Darcy already has one and simply reminds himself to ask her to bring it over one night.)

(That line of thought leads him to the idea of asking her to move in with them, which leads to him realizing that she probably _wouldn’t_ move in with them because then it would be obvious to _everyone_ that they were sleeping together, and that nearly leads him into dangerous waters. Thankfully, he’s become pretty adept at catching himself before his thoughts and emotions bring him down, and he stuffs that idea into the box of ideas he’s not supposed to touch _ever_ , then locks the damn box and pushes it away from his conscious mind.)

He selects ‘Pick Up’ instead of ‘Delivery’, ‘Cash’ instead of ‘Credit Card’, and then checks the store branch that’s located in Stark Tower (because _of course_ Tony would have whole floor in the tower for shops dedicated to erotic pleasure), then pulls on the hipster get up Natasha had set aside for him for when he needed to shop inside the tower and not be recognized. (He would’ve worn something else and gone out to do this particular kind of shopping elsewhere, but he couldn’t pull off any of his disguises without some form of headgear. Hats, sadly, were more common among the hipster community, and so hipster fashion made up most of his disguises, much to his chagrin.)

Checking that he has enough cash to pay for his orders, he leaves the room and heads to the elevator to pick his orders up. It’s just his luck that Natasha comes out of her room just as the doors start to close, and he thoughtlessly holds it open for her so she can join him.

“Going shopping, big brother?” she asks, smirking at the curly red wig and matching beard he’s sporting. (It had been a joke from Clint, who said that they could pass as siblings that way the next time they had to go on the run. Steve kept it because Natasha told him he could never have too many disguises on hand.) And then she looks at the floor number that’s already lit up, and her smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Thirtieth floor, huh? Tell me you’re not just going there for the underwear.”

He debates telling her yes or no for too long. “Yes, just the underwear,” he says, but it’s too late. Natasha’s grinning like the Cheshire cat and wrapping her arm around his, her intention of coming with him clear on her face.

“Lead on then, bro,” she tells him, and Steve wonders what he’d done to deserve this embarrassment. Was it because he teased Bucky yesterday about his research? If so, then he’ll apologize, but please, God, free him from this tribulation.

He is not freed from this tribulation.

In fact, the tribulation _grows_ when the elevator opens on the training level and admits Clint. “Going shopping?” he asks.

“Why yes,” Natasha purrs smugly. “Yes, we are.”

Steve buries his face in his hands when his teammate’s eyes travel to the floor buttons and realize their destination. “I can’t unsee this,” Clint says, sounding torn between glee and horror.

“Kill me,” Steve groans. “Just kill me now.”

He ends up taking them with him to the store, where a baby-faced redhead situated behind the register welcomes them cheerfully and asks how she can help them.

Steve does his best to smile at her and nearly scratches his face when the adhesive pulls at his skin. “Yeah, hi, I’m here to pick up an order for Grant Buchanan?”

“Oh, hang on, please,” she says, pulling up the purchase order before flitting through the store to collect the products.

“I can’t unsee this,” Clint murmurs again once he sees what Steve is buying.

“Will this be all, sir?” the redhead asks.

“No,” Natasha says, dumping a few things on the counter. “We’re taking these too.”

“Na— Natalie!” he gripes as he spies anal beads, a vibrator and something called a Fleshlight amidst the two bottles of lubricant and the three packs of condoms.

“Oh relax, bro. You’ll love these, I promise,” she says, making the other redhead raise her eyebrows and glance between the three of them. Steve glares at her, pays for everything, and wishes the ground would swallow him whole as they leave the shop and go back to the elevator. “You’ll thank me later,” she tells him as they travel back up to their shared floor. “I’ll take a gift certificate if they have one.”

Steve highly doubts he’ll do that, but he doesn’t _say_ so, choosing instead to give a noncommittal grunt. But despite his initial disgruntlement, he finds himself warming up to the idea of using the new toys Natasha added. The triple-stimulation rabbit vibrator seemed particularly promising, if the reviews he found online are anything to go by. He couldn’t wait to get Darcy’s opinion on the matter.

It takes him three days to muster up the courage to pull the vibrator out of the nightstand and ask Darcy if he can use it on her, but he hadn’t needed to worry—Darcy seems immensely amused and pleased at his initiative. “You… Steve, did you seriously buy me a sex toy?”

Steve flushes. “I bought you several,” he admits, and that leads to him showing off the purchases, asking Darcy to bring over a few of her toys, and being surprised when she whines in disappointment after he tells her they’re not using them all tonight. “Patience,” he says, kissing her gently. “Save something for tomorrow.”

“The Fleshlight,” she demands. “I want to use it on you.” She glances at Bucky. “ _And_ you.”

“Tomorrow,” he promises, nudging the vibrator up her chin and over her red lips. “Now say hello to your new friend.”

Darcy laughs and takes the soft tip into her mouth, wetting it thoroughly, and when Steve is satisfied with its slickness, he gently slides it out of her mouth, turns it on and drags it down, letting the tip rotate around her nipple. Bucky sits back this time, his hand tracing circles over her hipbone, though he leans closer to get a good view once Steve slips the toy between Darcy’s thighs.

“Oh,” she says, frowning as he lets it wiggle over her clit. “That’s… huh. Your tongue is better than this.” Steve hums and presses the moving tip into her until the longer stimulator’s ‘ears’ are pinching her clit. Darcy’s mouth drops. “Okay!” she gasps, hips bucking up. “Getting it now. Wow, Steve, you really know how to pick ‘em.” Steve reminds himself to get Natasha that gift certificate, then angles the toy upward so that it could— “Oh, wow,” she says with a frank tone of voice, startled, her legs parting further. “Oh, _god_. Oh shit, oh fuck, oh my god—”

It takes her a mere thirty seconds to come, sucking in a sharp breath and going stiff as her core leaks copiously onto the sheets. Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s shoulders and murmurs, “You’re a fucking genius,” to him.

“Fuck,” she exhales shortly, not relaxing or releasing her lungful of air all the way. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Well, shit,” Bucky murmurs, smiling at her and moving to kiss one hard nipple. “Does it really feel that good?”

“—fuck, _yes_ , fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Darcy finally runs out of breath and sucks in a new one, and she comes again with a small cry. “Oh my god,” she whines shakily, still not moving. “Oh, god, stop, please—” Steve switches the toy off, and Darcy trembles, her face twisted in pleasure. “God, somebody kiss me right now.”

Bucky, being closer, leans in immediately, and Darcy whimpers, going limp as soon as Bucky’s body is pressed against hers.

“Did you have fun?” Steve asks, slipping the toy out of her and bringing it up to his lips for her taste.

“Uh-huh,” she says, voice high-pitched with surprise and eyes staring at the ceiling as she pants.

He smiles, pleased at her response. “And to think,” he tells her, “I didn’t even let you feel the anal stimulator.” Darcy shudders and closes her eyes, mewling quietly and rolling her body invitingly.

Well, who was he to deny his girl?

“Knees up,” he murmurs, teasing her clit with the tip of the vibrator, and Darcy moans eagerly as she drags her knees back, Bucky helpfully hooking his left arm under the bend of her left leg as he trails kisses down to her chest.

The next night, Darcy brings a few things over, and instead of the Fleshlight, they end up using her gag, the cock ring she has, Steve’s long-ignored handcuffs, and the anal beads.

On _him_.

The first time, Steve comes from Darcy pumping her hand over his erection while Bucky stretches his hole and inserts the beads into him. Once he’s done, Darcy takes the opportunity to snap the cock ring around his softening member, and then she and Bucky get their mouths on him, cleaning him off and rousing him back to full hardness. And then they cuff Steve’s hands behind his back, prop him up against the headboard, and _leave him there_ , Bucky coming inside her three times—Darcy more than that thanks to his soulmate stretching her asshole open too—before they go back to touching him again. Steve nearly gets himself off just by watching them and grinding his ass against the bed, the beads rubbing his insides so beautifully, but the cock ring torturously stops him from finding relief.

And then they tease him for _another hour_ , kissing up and down his body, paying a good deal of attention to his groin before moving elsewhere. Steve lets out a grateful groan when Darcy finally sheathes him into her body, her heavenly snug passage quickly made tighter when Bucky fills her from behind. With her pace guided by his other half, Steve’s ass is nudged, ground and bounced against the mattress with every downward press, stimulating him with the beads in the process and making him moan, beg, and at one point scream in frustration when the cock ring continues to delay his release.

“ _Please_ get it off!” he tries to say behind the gag, but they simply smile at him, Bucky taunting him a little and Darcy presenting herself so magnificently as she and Bucky play with her body while they drive him to insanity. He _hates_ the cuffs then, hates that he’d gotten them from Tony, hates that he was only just finding out how sturdy they were. He wants to touch them and free his member from its confines and _come_ , but it’s another half-hour _at least_ before they let him do so, Darcy going limp in his soulmate’s arms as she tells Bucky to keep going, to keep fucking her onto Steve until he comes inside her.

And he does come eventually, the orgasm that washes over him managing to keep him wiped out for a good ten minutes. Steve trembles mindlessly in the soft, tender arms of an equally sated Darcy while Bucky unsnaps the ring and eases the beads out of his body, and their soft words and gentle touches lull him to sleep for the first time ever.

(Steve gives Natasha her gift certificate the following afternoon, and a flushed-faced Clint squeakily thanks him at breakfast the next morning.)

*

It takes him eighteen days since Darcy started sleeping over to realize something. And okay, to be fair (or something), it’s only been a week and a day since he told Darcy he loves her and for her to say she returned those feelings, so really…

…yeah, no. It’s still pretty deplorable that they only got to say those two little words on the eighteenth morning of her waking up in their room. As a matter of fact, he’s not exactly clear on _how_ they managed to not say it for so long, since they were the first words out of his mouth once he sees her stir, stretch and turn over, a sleepy smile curving her lips as she lays eyes on him.

“Good mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, running his hand down her bare side as she reaches up to touch his cheek.

“G’morning, babe,” she replies sleepily, brushing her thumb over his skin.

That’s when the realization that they’ve never, _ever_ said that to each other before hits him in the gut.

The only moments in his recent life that have ever choked up him used to involve Steve in some sort of capacity. Seven nights ago, Darcy had done that to him too, her soft declarations of love unraveling him the way he had known it would. This morning, he does it to himself, simply by giving her that normal, innocuous greeting.

“I love you,” he tells her, pulling her closer to him. He doesn’t think about how cliché this is, or how typical and tacky it could sound to anyone. The sentiment just bubbles up from his chest to his lips, and nothing in the world could’ve stopped him from saying it to her. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she returns, kissing him without him needing to ask, though he keeps it short because he has something important to say to her.

“Hm, good morning, doll,” he murmurs again, aware that he sounds like an idiot, but needing to make up for all the mornings he’s failed to say the words to her. And then he freezes, realizing what he’d called her _again_. “Shit,” he groans, pulling away and rubbing a hand over his face. “M’sorry. Don’t mean to keep callin’ you that.” He winces when he sees how she’s staring at him, looking more awake now, her eyebrows and nose slightly scrunched as she frowns at him.

But upon closer inspection, he realizes it’s not hurt or offense that he can see on her face. She’s… she’s thinking.

She’s _thinking?_

“Oh,” she breathes suddenly, biting her lip as doubt and nervousness appear on her face.

Oh no.

“I’m sorry,” he says again at once, reaching up tentatively to brush her hair back, and then cupping her cheek when she doesn’t slap his hand away or tell him not to touch her. “M’so sorry, darling, I swear I didn’t mean to—”

“Do still see me that way?” she cuts him off, and he rears back a little at the question.

“Of course not!” he exclaims, his heart thudding hard in his chest as she voices the worry he’d been afraid she’d have. “Darcy, I just told you I love you—”

“I love you too,” she interrupts again, her fingers moving to touch the back of his hands. “Okay? I love you, and I know you love me too. Do you understand that?”

He frowns now too, confused, but he nods and says, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” she nods as well, then pulls his hands away from her face so she can lean in and kiss him gently, and it feels like a pardon for his mistake. “Now call me doll again.”

He jerks back once more, shocked at what she said. “Darcy—”

“I’m getting tired of that word screwing with us,” she tells him calmly before pressing her lips to his again, and he groans when she pushes him onto his back and straddles him, grinding her hot pussy over the topside of his dick. “I’m tired of it putting that look on your face. So say it again.”

He feels his heart pang at her words, and at the determination that laces her tone. He understands what she’s trying to do, but he doesn’t _want_ to call her ‘doll’ again. It reminds him of when he used to think of her so badly, and [it distracts him from her, makes him feel remorse and detracts what they’re doing in the now, and] she deserves better than that.

“Sweetheart, I—”

“Doll,” she insists, and he exhales sharply when she takes his swelling cock and feeds it immediately into her wet heat.

“Darcy,” he groans as he feels her cunt sinks over and around him, feels himself harden faster as she clenches tightly around him.

She grins at him, her intentions dancing clearly on her face. “ _Doll_ ,” she emphasizes, grinding over him again pointedly and gasping decadently as he slips in and out of her shortly, the simple gesture already so pleasurable he feels the urge to fuck her and feel _more_. But then she swallows and looks him in the eye and says, “Say it for me, James. Say it and make it mean ‘I love you’ instead,” and his arousal takes a backseat as his breath hitches in his throat and his chest tightens and swells with emotion, irrefutably moved by the sentiment and feeling both guilt and relief at the offer of absolution. “Please?” she asks, faltering. “I… I don’t want this to hurt us every time you say it. I want it to mean something better. Let it mean something better.”

“Da—” Her name catches in his throat, and he clears it and tries again. “I love you, doll,” he ends up spitting out in a rush, and Darcy bites her lip and rocks her hips, giving his reflexive frown no time to form on his face as her pussy drags over him deliciously.

“Again,” she says over the sound of pleasure he makes.

Slower this time, he says, “I love you, doll,” and she moves once more. She makes him repeat it twice more before he figures out what she’s trying to do. “Doll,” he murmurs, nearly laughing this time as he realizes how much easier it’s getting to ignore the reflexive guilt he’s developed since he stopped calling her that, and when she bucks into him again, he grasps her by her hips and raises her a little so he can drive into her, firm and fast. She shouts at the sudden thrust, but he recognizes it as a good shout instead of a pained one, so he does it again, infusing the word with the motion.

“That’s it,” she groans, embracing him to her and burying her face against his hair as he continues to fuck her. “Oh, baby, that’s it. Take it back for us. Redefine it. Make it ours again.” _Make it ours again_ , she says. Jesus fuck. He shudders at the thought, at the idea, and turns her on her back before kissing her deeply, murmuring the word against her lips as he raises her knees to her chest and tells her again that he loves her, _doll_.

Between her gasps and cries for more, Darcy hisses encouragements in his ears and returns his declarations of affection, sinking her nails across his shoulders and back and ass and adding to the sensations already crisscrossing through his body. And between her touch, her words, her eventual orgasm and his own growing triumph over his guilty emotions, it doesn’t take him long to come inside her, moaning into her neck as the tension inside him bursts free.

“God, you’re so good,” she mumbles, cunt quivering around his spurting cock. “You’re so good to me, James. Thank you, baby.”

He pants against her skin, feeling just as emotionally wrung out as he had five nights ago. “I love you,” he says again, unable to _not_ say it, not when he feels so fucking good and _clean_. Well, not in the physical way, but like his release had purged him of all his negativity.

She’s done it to him every time, made him feel this way ever since the night she let him have her to himself, even for just a little while.

“I love you,” she replies, exhaling deeply as she slides her legs down his sides and lays them flat on the mattress, still spread wide to accommodate his presence, and she moans as the position makes her feel tighter around his softening length. He rolls them over, knowing how heavy he is and how easily he can suffocate her just by lying on top of her, and they both groan when she clenches around his dick to keep him inside her. “Stay right there,” she murmurs, slurring a little.

He laughs. “Not a problem, doll,” he tells her, swallowing when the last word makes her smile like they’ve got a secret. Which, okay, they do, and oh, _shit_. They can use that around the others! And no one would realize what it means! He can tell her he loves her right in front of them, and she’d give him this same gorgeous smile he’s seeing now.

(Suddenly, he really, _really_ fucking _loves_ that word.)

She hums, sounding incredibly content as she nuzzles the tip of her nose against his collarbone, and the innocent, heartfelt gesture has warm affection sparking through his chest, making him slide his right hand up her back and into her hair, massaging her scalp. A low rumbling noise leaves her throat, and the sound making him smile.

He’s tempted to ask her if she’s purring for him, _kitten_ , but doing so had the risk of Darcy stopping, and it was such a nice little sound. So he keeps his silence instead and continues kneading his fingertips through her hair and against her skin.

It takes him a few minutes to realize she’d fallen asleep again, and only then when he feels her drooling a little on his chest.

 _God, you’re adorable_ , he thinks, smiling, feeling warm, and he stares at her profile as he remembers what they’d just done, the reaction Darcy had to _his_ reaction when he called her ‘doll’, the solution she offered up, the claim she’d made that the word was _theirs_ and they had to take it back, redefine it… He wonders how the hell he can pay her back for that kindness, for not holding his old views against him, for letting him in despite how he’d treated her back then…

He blinks his thoughts away and smiles again at the sight of her lips turning up. “Stop staring at me,” she murmurs.

“No.”

She grunts a sleepy laugh and nuzzles him again. “G’morning,” she mumbles against his skin, and he thinks it’s ridiculous that he has to blink back tears at all from the simple greeting.

“Good mornin’, doll.”

“So good,” she agrees, and he groans when her cunt ripples around his cock as she shifts her weight. “Mm, you stayed,” she murmurs, sounding a bit surprised.

He rubs his fingers through her hair again. “Course I stayed. You asked me to.” She sucks in a short, sharp breath and goes still, tensing up. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, though he does wonder why the words… made… her…

 _Steve_.

He swallows, realizing the landmine he’d just stepped on and wondering how to proceed. Should he step off of it slowly, or let it blow now? Both had their pros and cons. Then again, maybe he should disarm the bomb? Save Steve the trouble of digging his own grave? God knows Steve would blunder his way through and make things a little bit worse before he can make it all better.

“Darlin’—”

“Let’s not?” she interrupts him, unsure and quiet. “Please?”

He inhales deeply and resumes massaging her scalp. “Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “But you know he ain’t gonna leave again, doncha?”

She curls in closer and gives a small “Yes” that convinces neither of them, and the warm feeling that had been keeping him buoyed and light-hearted fades in the wake of this discovery, replaced with a heavy feeling of guilt and sadness.

Because he’s the one at fault for this, isn’t he? He put Steve in that position when he came to the tower, had made Steve choose between him and her, and because Steve is a loyal friend and was desperate for something of his past to hold onto, he went and picked the screwed up murderer with an identity crisis over the girl whose somehow handling on her own baggage with average success without needing help from anyone.

Thing is, from what he’s gleaned of their time together, Steve and Darcy had been doing well as a couple. The secrecy of their relationship aside, they were a good fit together, perhaps as good as Steve and Bucky Barnes had once been.

And he’d ruined that by coming h—

He gasps as she moves suddenly, pussy clenching and sliding over him. She’d only dozed off for a few minutes at most, so she’s still slick from their combined juices leaking around him and out of her and it only takes a few motions from her to get his dick hard again. “Darcy,” he says, heat spreading from his gut, his left hand snapping to her ass and his right one fisting in her hair. “Darcy, wait.”

“Please don’t,” she begs him, leaning up to cover his mouth.

 _She’s doing it again_ , he thinks. Using sex to keep him from talking. But unlike the last time, he keeps control of his irritation and dismay so that he doesn’t lash out at her. This time, he turns them over, pulling out of her in the process, and then moves back and flips her onto her front, pinning her down.

“ _James_ —”

“No,” he tells her, affecting a calm tone that has her stilling in surprise. “You want to fuck instead of talk, fine. But if that’s the case, then you don’t get to say a word at all.”

She shudders and whines, but her body language is eager and relieved. He exhales heavily, imagining that it’s ridding him of some of his displeasure, then presses his forehead to her shoulder as he sinks back into her. And then he fucks her, rougher and harder than he’s been fucking her since he and Steve agreed to stop leaving bruises on her.

A week. The idyllic relationship between them had lasted a week, and he supposes that given all the issues between them, he should be grateful it even lasted that long. For some reason though, he’d been hoping it would never end, and now that the turbulence has hit them again, he’s so… _mad_.

It’s his fault. He knows that.

(But how the fuck is he going to make amends when she won’t give him a chance to do so?)

*

Miraculously, her little misstep earlier this morning seems to have been forgotten, replaced by the high that always comes with a _fantastic_ roll around the sheets. Darcy is _greatly_ relieved.

“Here you go, doll,” James— _Barnes_ says, handing her a bowl from the high cabinet and placing it next to her cereal.

“See ya later, doll,” he says as she leaves for work.

“Hi, doll,” he calls as he enters the lab, his hands behind his back.

She’s left grinning every time she sees the secret little smile on Ja— _Barnes’s_ face, pleased that her idea to turn the word’s meaning around had worked. (On the other hand, she’s a still little devastated to receive confirmation that she’d been right. ‘Doll’ _had_ stood for ‘whore’, and underneath all the giddiness is a long, coiled up thread of shame.)

(She knows exactly why he thought of her that way, and he was right—and still _is_ right—to have thought it.)

“Back atcha,” she replies, finally coming up with a way to say ‘I love you too’, even though it kinda seems ridiculous to use as a reply to ‘hi’.

He smiles and leans in, and for a moment, Darcy thinks he’s about to kiss her, right there in front of Jane and Erik. And, oh god, he _does_. On her _cheek_. The look in his eyes when he pulls back is knowing and mischievous, telling her that he knows _exactly_ what she thought he’d do, the smug jerk.

“Is this a bad time, doll?” he asks, his mirth audible in his voice.

“Little bit,” she breathes, then shakes her head and flushes as she closes her legs, not even realizing she’d let them part. (Not _all_ the way, thank god. That would be… bad.)

“Oh,” he says, faltering. “Well, I guess I can just keep this to myself then,” he adds teasingly, revealing a coffee tray with three cups in it. “Even though I think it’s too sweet and has too much mint in it to be really called a chocola—” He laughs while sidestepping the rubber band she picks up and fires at him. “So damn violent, dar-cy,” he nearly slips, and she hopes desperately that Jane hadn’t caught the gap between the syllables of her name.

As if to make it up to her, he drops the cup in front of her monitor and grimaces at her apologetically, and she smiles and mouths ‘It’s okay’ even though her heart had hitched and is now pumping twice as fast as it normally does. He’s handing the other cups to Jane and Erik when she finds the blue Post-It attached to the underside of her coffee, and with a surreptitious glance around the room to make sure no one’s looking at her, she detaches the paper and sees that he’d written on the adhesive’s side.

 _Any preferences?_ it read, and she frowns, wondering what he meant. Flipping the paper over makes his meaning much clearer. _Can Steve and I cook dinner for you again tonight?_ it asks, and she can’t hold back the smile that blooms on her face at the sight of his neat, rarely-seen writing, nor can she ignore the butterflies that spawn in her stomach at the idea that they want to cook dinner for her again.

She fishes out a pen and scribbles her replies on the appropriate sides ( _I wouldn’t say no to your cooking_ and _Feel free to surprise me. Is 7:30 okay?)_ , then casually ambles over to him and sticks the paper on the inside of his arm as covertly as she can. Before he disappears out the door, he shoots her a nod of confirmation, wearing a pleased smile that sends warm tingles through her body, and she finds herself unable to wait for dinner.

Darcy does her best, but she doesn’t manage to finish everything by seven. In fact, her naïve belief that she can finish everything in time to head up to dinner makes her _late_ for it, and she doesn’t notice until seven twenty-five, when JARVIS pipes up. “Miss Lewis, dinner has been served. Captain Rogers requests your attendance for this meal.”

Her blood _sings_ at the mention of Steve, reminded of the last time she was missing for dinner. She’s a little bit tempted to see what’ll happen if she misses this one, but then she remembers that they’d cooked _for her_ , so fuck that noise.

“Fuck. Okay, thanks, J,” she says, taking another few minutes to wrap up and set the computer to compare her inputs from the printouts she’d scanned in earlier. JARVIS offers to help, which she accepts, but she still needs to double-check it all again before submitting it to Jane’s personal Oracle cloud. And just to be safe, she asks JARVIS to remind her about it if it looks like she’s about to discard the notion ( _in favor of heading straight to ‘bed’_ , she doesn’t say).

She drops by her own room briefly to freshen up and get a change of clothes for tomorrow, then swings by their room to leave her overnight bag by the door. Once that’s done, she scurries down to the kitchen, hoping they aren’t upset with her tardiness and wondering what they would surprise her with.

The kitchen is empty, however, though the faint scent of something that smells like beef lingers in the air.

“Everyone is in the dining room, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS says helpfully.

“Everyone?” Darcy asks, frowning as disappointment starts to set in.

“Indeed. I’m afraid Miss Potts has asked me to notify her when dinner for more than two people is being cooked in the kitchen. She convinced Sergeant Barnes to make enough to feed all the residents of the tower.”

She pouts, because she had been looking forward to another private meal that’s just the three of them. She can’t blame Pepper for the ambush, though; Barnes is apparently some sort of cooking god, if Steve’s account of his skills and that spaghetti he made are any basis.

Which they are, at the moment.

The first thing she sees when she walks into the dining room is the overabundance of people crowding the round table (a joke that was instigated by _Pepper_ , of all people), which, yes, is a disappointment (see above reasons). Besides Steve and Jame— _Barnes_ , Thor, Jane, Erik, Bruce and Pepper are there as well, and of the five, only Thor gives her an apologetic look and points at Pepper (who she sees is rocking the band-shirt/business-skirt/bare-feet ensemble), indicating that she was the reason everyone seems to be present. Darcy bites back a grin at the god of thunder practically throwing the Fortune 500 CEO under the proverbial bus.

The second thing that hits her is the stronger smell of food, which is _heavenly_ as _fuck_. Her stomach gurgles loudly in appreciation and anticipation.

“Is that _beef?”_ she asks as she approaches the table.

“Beef stew,” Steve replies, his grin welcoming, but also a little strained. She clearly isn’t the only one who’s put out at the overabundance of expected people in the room. “Come have a seat, sweetheart,” he pats the empty chair between himself and Barnes.

“Stew,” she repeats, blinking as her mind goes back to a time when stews were practically a staple in her life. “Wow, I haven’t had one in years.”

“Me neither,” Pepper says, looking and sounding delighted. “It’s great, isn’t it? Almost exactly how my grandmother used to make it. But better,” she adds when _Barnes_ opens his mouth. He settles down, mollified at the compliment.

“God, yes,” Darcy nods, and although she hesitates to debate the wisdom of taking the chair he indicates, she doesn’t want to embarrass Steve by choosing another seat (like the one beside Thor, who’s already glancing pointedly between her and that chair). So she sits down, and promptly forgets to feign a casualness she doesn’t really feel when Barnes pulls off the white plastic plate cover and reveals that her plate already had (somehow still steaming) food on it. She relaxes when a peek at the other empty seats reveals the same covered plates.

“Wine?” Barnes asks, and then pours a hearty amount into her glass when she agrees, pricking her fork into a hot beef cube and blowing on it to cool it down before gingerly takes it into her mouth.

She moans and has to wonder how the hell he managed to make it taste like _this_. “God, that’s so good,” she groans. She’d forgotten how much better stews were when still hot. “Barnes, Jesus, forget Avenging. You should be a chef.”

He laughs. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t _like_ it,” she tells him. “I _love_ it.”

His entire body _shifts_ , right hand twitching in what she _knows_ is her direction before he goes still, and the way his cheek twitches as he clenches his jaw and the sudden tautness of his body practically screams that he’s forcing himself not to reach out and just _touch_ her. Darcy suddenly feels the urge to cry, because she _wants_ him to, wants him to do all that, wants to press herself against him and kiss this beautiful man’s mouth _right now_ , but she _can’t_ because _other people will see_.

Once again, she briefly considers just telling everyone the truth. Thor had been her biggest worry, being the one person (okay, _other_ than Bruce) who could possibly smash Steve and Barnes into a pulp, but he knows now, and he doesn’t seem to suspect that Steve had been the culprit of her old bruises. She’s not quite sure what’s holding her back anymore, but she discards the idea on reflex, thinking that she’ll just have to save all the appreciation that’s building up inside her for _later_.

Oh, _yes_. Now _that’s_ a good idea.

Tony’s arrival provides the distraction she needs from Barnes, and the whole table watches the billionaire absolve himself from Pepper’s dismay at his lateness by bringing five boxes of strawberry shortcake with him, much to Pepper’s (and Darcy’s) delight. Dinner resumes then, and as usual, Darcy’s little scientists (plus Tony) group together to talk about the Science! they’ve been doing in their lab, Bruce and Thor talk in low tones about what she thinks are medicinal plants found on Asgard, and Pepper appropriates Barnes’s attention, asking him where he learned how to cook such a good meal.

She and Steve pay attention to the latter conversation, Steve smiling as Barnes mentions his mother as his kitchen mentor, and then looking surprised when Barnes starts to tell a story that has Steve murmuring, “You remembered.”

Barnes nods. “I do. I did, when you mentioned her. It’s like a key to a door and it got unlocked or something.”

Natasha and Clint appear then, apologizing for their delay. “Sparring,” they say when Darcy asks where they’ve been, and a few minutes later, Clint groans while everyone else cheers after Natasha—upon hearing about [almost] everyone’s participation in creating their dinner—volunteers them for dishwashing duty as an apology for their tardiness.

The downside of having a home-cooked meal? The amount of plates and utensils and cookware to be cleaned becomes even more massive than normal.

“I’ll help with that,” Darcy interjects. “I was late too.”

“That’s very kind of you, Darcy,” Steve says, and she stifles a squeak when she feels his left hand engulf her right knee.

Again, the dining table is round, and it’s big enough that Tony had to install a turntable once he realized that passing food to across the table would involve disturbing more than three other people from their dinners, which he claimed was inefficient and rude. (He was, of course, referring to other people disturbing _him_ from his dinner, not the other way around.) Suddenly though, with Steve’s hand warming her skin through her jeans, James’s own flesh hand soon settling higher on her left thigh, the table felt so incredibly _small_.

There’s a reason why Darcy usually sits beside either Thor or Erik, _not_ between the two super-soldiers who know how to touch her _juuuust_ right.

 _This_ is that reason.

She becomes a little distracted from the conversations happening around her, too busy putting spoonfuls of warm stew—and then later strawberry shortcake—into her mouth and hoping the hums that come out of her throat sound more appreciative than horny. Because it doesn’t matter that they do nothing inappropriate to her body during the course of the meal, they’re already wreaking havoc on her mind by just leaving their hands there. And later, she’ll be mortified and extremely bothered to realize that she’d been hoping they really would do something indecent to her in public, but for now, she finds herself daydreaming about what would happen if one of those big hands moved higher and stroked her through her jeans right there, in front of everyone they know.

At one point, she debates going down to the lower levels to go shopping for skirts. She _knows_ they would like her in skirts. Easier to gain access, easier to fix up… (Goddamn. Look at her thinking about wearing skirts for them after she’d sworn those things off for life. God, she _hates_ her legs—they look great in jeans and heels, but never when skirts are involved.)

(This is what they do to her. Jesus Christ.)

Finally, dinner ends, and everyone helps carry everything to the sink for her, Natasha and Clint to rinse and load into the dishwasher. Steve was the last to leave, and once the others have disappeared out the door, he pulls her close and kisses her, right there for their other two friends to see. She stiffens briefly, thinking of the redhead and the archer’s presence, but she reminds herself that they already know about all this and relaxes, letting Steve do what he wants.

“I missed you today,” he tells her quietly when he pulls back.

“I missed you too,” she murmurs, leaning in again, tangling her fingers through his hair as she makes up for not responding to him moments before. Steve presses in eagerly, fingers curling against her back to fist her shirt.

“Miss Potts is approaching,” JARVIS announces, and Darcy jerks back, biting her lip as she moves away to help Natasha and Clint with the dishes.

“Steve?” Pepper calls out. “Do you mind coming down with me to my office? I just received some paperwork I’d like you to look over.”

“Of course. It’s no trouble,” Steve smiles, and it’s like he hadn’t been kissing her a few moments before at all. (It stings her a little to see him act that way. And then she swallows her hurt down as penance for what she realizes must be how he felt when she pulled away so abruptly.) “Thanks for doing this, guys,” he says as he walks towards the door.

“No problemo, Capitano,” Clint says, saluting him with a wet hand.

Darcy bites back a grin. “I half expected you to add ‘Americano’.”

Clint gasps and pouts. “Shit! I totally didn’t think about that,” he groans mournfully.

Natasha gives her the stink-eye. “Stop encouraging him,” she says, flicking water at Darcy, who squeals and raises her hands to protect her face.

“Is that how it is!” she demands, wetting her fingers and returning fire.

“Ohhhh shit,” Clint mumbles, edging away.

“Nyet, ptichka,” the redhead purrs—literally _purrs_ (holy hell that’s sexy)—as she smiles, wide and dangerous. Darcy realizes why a moment later, when Natasha aims the nozzle at her and gives the handle a quick press, soaking Darcy’s shirt. “ _That’s_ how it is.”

Darcy briefly debates the wisdom of engaging such a venerated fighter like the Black Widow.

Then again, who the hell else will ever get the chance?

And besides, wisdom, what wisdom?

(“I love my life,” Clint mumbles happily as he sits back to watch the show.)

*

Epiphanies come at the most unexpected times. Sometimes you can expect them, because you’ve been mulling something over and finally come to a conclusion.

Other times, they come in hot like a fastball, smash your face in with a baseball bat, and take off for a homerun.

Take for example the realization Steve makes while he’s talking to Pepper. It was after dinner and they were in her office, where the rewritten employment contracts she’d drawn up for him and Bucky—revised to protect them against any attempts to be legally claimed by the Army and, just in case, the American government as a whole—had been delivered. He’d been surprised to see them, unaware that Pepper had been working on it at all, and she informed him that it was Bucky’s idea, surprising him again.

They’d ended up discussing the protective measures she and Tony had implemented (for Tony, herself, their friend Lt. Col. Rhodes, and then the members of the Avengers Initiative) long before SHIELD fell and the fail-safes they’ve come up (and are still coming up) with after it, and when Steve expresses his gratitude, Pepper puts a well-manicured hand on his, squeezes comfortingly, and kindly tells him that “You and James are part of our family, Steve.  _Of course_  Tony and I would take care of you both.”

Right then and there, he felt compelled to pour his heart out to Pepper, to tell her about his irritation with the brass, about his concerns as team leader, about Bucky’s unresolved issues, about  _Darcy_ , about  _everything_. It was almost like talking to his  _mother_  again, God rest her soul.

But while he will eventually end up expressing his worries about the Army and the team, he realizes that _can’t_  blab about his lovers. Natasha and Bruce, they’d already known about the relationship, but Pepper… doesn’t. So no, he can’t talk to her about them, can’t talk to her (or anyone outside of Sam and sometimes Natasha) about Bucky and his issues because then Steve would be breaking the trust that’s only just been solidified between him and his soulmate again. And he can’t tell her about Darcy either, because that would be coming out of nowhere for her, and Darcy would be upset when she found out that he’d broken her trust.  _Again_ , because he’d already done that once when he left her for Bucky, hadn’t he?

 _That’s_  when he has his realization.

See, it’s been over a week since he asked Darcy if they could take her out, date her, get to know her, and the same amount of time has passed since she last opened up to them about…  _anything_ , anything that wasn’t related to sex. At first he’d convinced himself that she just needed time to think about it, and okay, maybe that’s still true. But maybe it’s more than that too.

Maybe it’s him. Maybe  _he’s_  the reason why Darcy still hasn’t given them an answer about them dating her.

It could be—probably  _is_ —his fault, because she was able to tell Bucky she loves him, but hasn’t said the words to him at all.

Steve left. He abandoned her. That was the rub, wasn’t it? He’d broken her trust and her heart once before, and Bucky had helped her heal it by inviting her into their bed and falling in love with her too. _That’s_ why she hasn’t made her mind up yet, and why she hasn’t been as openly affectionate with Steve in public the way she is with Bucky.

God, Bucky said he told her that he was the wildcard, that it was Steve she could trust, but he’s already proven himself untrustworthy, hadn’t he?

“Steve?” Pepper tilts her head as she looks at him. “Are you all right? You look upset.”

Steve swallows and tries to smile. “I… just realized something,” he admits, standing. “I’m sorry, I think I should go now.”

“All right,” the woman says, standing as well as he turns to go. “Wait! Steve, the contracts.”

“Right,” he shakes his head and goes back for them, collecting the papers and neatly closing them into the folders they came from. “I’ll talk to Bucky, see what he thinks.”

Pepper nods. “Okay,” she replies. “If you need to talk to someone—”

“I know,” he cuts her off, nodding gratefully at her continued kindness and internally wincing at how rude he must be acting right now. “Thank you for this, Pepper. You… you’ve been a good friend to Bucky and me. I’m sorry that I just,” he gestures to his chair.

“It’s all right,” Pepper assures him. “You looked like you had an epiphany. I understand what that’s like.”

“I might take you up on that offer to talk someday,” he tells her, trying to make up for his rudeness.

“I’ll pencil you in,” she smiles warmly, and he bids her a good night and leaves.

He thinks about what he’d realized on his way back to their room, thinks about how he could possibly make it up to Darcy, how he could show her that he’s not going anywhere without her ever again. The problem consumes him so thoroughly that he forgets what to expect when he walks through the door, forgets he shouldn’t be surprised to walk in on his lovers naked and stretched out on his bed already. But he is, and he comes to a stop in the doorway, his hand exerting a little too much pressure on the knob as he takes in the sight of Bucky with his face pressed to her chest, Darcy’s legs sliding up to wrap around his waist, and the look on her face as his other half takes her nipple into his mouth and suckles at it soundly.

The beep of the door locking behind him draws their attention, and some of the tension he’s been feeling ebbs at the bright, welcoming look that shows on Darcy’s face and the warmth in her voice as she says his name in greeting.

Maybe he’d been overthinking things. Darcy couldn’t—wouldn’t—have stayed with them for so long if she thought what he thinks she does, right? Or perhaps she _had_ given them her answer, given it to Bucky maybe, and Steve simply missed hearing about it?

But even as he thinks that last bit, he knows it can’t be true. Bucky wouldn’t have kept that from him, would’ve made sure Steve knew her answer, and Steve doubts he’d forget or miss it if Darcy had given her answer to his request for them to date her. So no, she couldn’t have given her answer yet.

 _And_ , he realizes, maybe it’s not him that’s the issue at all. Last night… She’d been so tender with him. She wouldn’t have been so gentle if she doesn’t care about him, wouldn’t have been so _loving_ if she doesn’t love him. And she’s stayed with them for months now, hadn’t she? Had stayed with them long enough to fall in love with Bucky too.

So perhaps it’s not him after all. Maybe it’s not a trust thing. Maybe…

…maybe it’s a ‘what would the world think’ thing that’s making Darcy hesitate? After all, polyamory isn’t a popular ‘fad’ in a world where finding your soulmate is the most important aspect of life. Traditionalists upheld the belief that only a soulbonded man and woman have the right to pursue a romance, and that same-sex soulmates should have a platonic relationship, and that three people entwined in an intimate relationship were an aberration to the society. Modernists supported romances between all soulbonded people, were open-minded about casual sex between three people, and heartily supported adoption, sperm-donation and surrogacy for same-sex soulmates looking to have a family, but very few would support an actual romance that included soulmates and a third person.

He’s aware of how it would look for him and his soulmate to include a third into their bond, a third who wasn’t even there for reproductive purposes, but Steve doesn’t care, and neither would Bucky. Darcy shouldn’t either, and he hopes that she doesn’t.

“ _Helloooo_ ,” Darcy calls, waving a hand at him, and Steve blinks and realizes he’s been standing there quietly, deep in thought. “Earth to Steve, come in, Steve.”

“Sorry,” is what he should’ve said. Retreat to fight another day and such. That’s what Captain America would do. But he is not always Captain America, and Steve Rogers has never really learned when not to back down when it comes to the things important to him. So instead, what comes out is this: “You know we don’t care what anyone thinks of us, right?”

Darcy blinks. Bucky stops what he’s doing to give him an incredulous look.

Darcy exhales a nervous laugh. “Um, where’s this coming from?” she asks, sitting up and pushing Bucky off of her.

Bucky flops onto the bed with a sigh, his erection still going strong. ‘Damn it, Steve,’ he mouths, glaring at him now.

Steve grimaces and kind of wants to kick himself for bringing it up now. “I… It’s nothing,” he backpedals, shaking his head and realizing he should’ve kept his mouth shut. “I mean, I just… wanted you to know.”

Darcy folds her legs together and her arms over her breasts and gives him a look. “Steven Grant Rogers,” she says warningly, and Steve (and Bucky) has to blink at how eerily similar to Mrs. Barnes she just sounded.

“Whoa,” Bucky says, staring at her.

“What?” she asks, then shakes her head. “No, you later,” she tells him, then points to Steve. “You, fess up.”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he replies, and then regrets it when first anger, then doubt and insecurity, and then resignation flash upon her face.

“Right,” she nods, turning back to Bucky and straddling him as she fuses her lips to his.

“Darcy,” Bucky says against her kiss, “hang on—” She presses harder, hands holding him against her as she covers his mouth with hers, hips grinding into him forcefully.

Steve feels his heart hurt and his throat tighten and his eyes sting as he watches _her_ hurting too, hurting because of him, and he puts the folder on the nightstand and crawls into bed, touching his hand to her back as he says, “I’m scared.” She goes still, allowing Bucky to pull back slightly. “I don’t want to talk to you about this now because I’m scared you won’t like what I have to say and you’ll leave.”

She breathes in and out deeply before looking at him. “This is about telling everyone about us, isn’t it?” she asks.

“No,” he answers honestly. “Like Bucky said, this is your car. If you want to tell them, we’re okay with that. But if not, we’re okay with that too. Would it be nice to be able to kiss you and tell you we love you whenever we want? Of course. But it’s your call too, and we don’t want to do things that will make you unhappy.”

She rears back, surprised and pleased and guilty. “Oh,” she says.

“But Darcy,” he adds, bringing up the second thing, “we’re… you never gave us an answer, about us dating you,” he clarifies, glancing at Bucky, who nods. “It doesn’t have to be something everyone knows about if you don’t want them to know. We just… wanna get to know you, and we want you to learn stuff about us too.”

She looks down, tears forming in her eyes, and she puts a hand up to cover her mouth and turns away from him, taking in a shaky breath. Her reaction makes him feel like his heart just dropped to the mattress beside his knees.

“Is it because I left you?” The words are out before he can even realize they’re leaving, and Darcy goes still, her breath catching.

Everything’s quiet for several long moments. Bucky… he gives Steve look of surprise, but a pained realization soon replaces it, like he can see where Steve’s coming from. And perhaps he does, considering the work he’d put in those first few weeks, convincing Steve and the others that he isn’t a threat and he had many of his memories back and all he wanted was to be reunited with his soulmate. If Darcy felt even half of what Steve had felt during those days…

Then he had hell of a lot of groveling and making it all up to her to do.

“You told him,” Darcy suddenly says.

“I didn’t,” Bucky replies, sitting up, and the sudden comprehension that his soulmate had known about this feels like a slap to Steve’s face.

“You knew?” he asks, wounded at the secrecy.

Bucky holds a hand up. “I only found out this morning,” he tells Steve, then turns to Darcy, “and I didn’t tell him. Didn’t even drop a damn clue, even though I wanted to real badly.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asks quietly, still not moving.

His other half sucks in a breath and exhales heavily. “Because I didn’t know how to say it without hurtin’ either of you. Tellin’ him woulda meant breakin’ your trust. Tellin’ you,” he looks to Steve, “woulda meant remindin’ you _why_ you left her.” He gestures to himself. “Me.” He moves his focus back to Darcy. “Doll, don’t be mad at him. I’m the one who pulled him away from you. Without me, it would never’ve happened. If you’re gonna be mad at anyone, be mad at me. Steve’s a good man. He don’t deserve to be thought badly of, ‘specially by you.”

“I’m not mad,” she interjects before Steve can. “M’not mad that he left. I understand why he left.”

Steve… he gets that. “But you were hurt,” he says softly, hurting too as he equates the pain he’d felt when Bucky turned him away to what Darcy must’ve felt when he told her he had to focus on helping Bucky. “I hurt you. Because—” He swallows. “Because I could’ve stayed with you and helped him too. But I didn’t. I chose him.”

“He’s your soulmate,” she replies, not even glancing at him. “Of course you’d choose him.”

“I loved you even then,” he tells her, and that makes her suck in a surprised breath. “I should’ve picked you too.”

She shudders, but then straightens up and look him in the eye. She’s got tear-tracks on her face and her nose is pinking up and her cheeks are tinged with red, but her expression is firm and determined as she says, “I don’t have your words, Steve. You did the right thing, choosing Barnes.”

“I did,” Steve agrees, because he knows that he’s helped a lot with Bucky’s progress and he will never regret that, not for a single second. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have chosen you too.”

“I don’t. have. your words!” she repeats, still firm, but also with a hint of hysteria in it. “Not yours and not Barnes’s. So this…” She gestures to them. “This isn’t some… _epic romance_ between the three of us, okay? It’s not!” She exhales and says matter-of-factly, “It’s not an epic romance, it’s a love affair. What we have is sex. That’s it.”

Bucky catches her face between his hands. “Is it?” he asks softly, looking her in the eye. “Is sex really all we have? Because I’ve seen your face when you tell me you love me, and you mean it every time.”

“I’m not your soulmate,” she repeats, bringing her hands up to his wrists. “I…” She closes her eyes, tears falling down her cheeks. “I love you,” she whispers, “I do. But I’m not your soulmate. We weren’t destined for each other, our love isn’t written in the stars or on our skins and I—”

Steve blinks, and he breathes a small laugh as he realizes something. “But we are destined,” he interrupts gently, placing a tentative hand over hers as he shifts so that they can look at each other. “Darcy, my whole life has been defined by pain. I was sick all the time, I was always being given my last rites, I was bullied and beaten down, I was rejected, I lost people… But somehow, I never left this world. I never succumbed to illness and I never gave up. Bucky,” he nods to his other half, “called me stubborn, but we all know that every life is destined to do things, to see and influence and become what Fate planned for us to be. So this?” He gestures between the three of them with his free hand. “This _is_ destiny. _You_ are my destiny. Mine _and_ Bucky’s. And sweetheart,” he adds as genuinely as he can, “you were worth every scrape and bruise it took me to get here.”

“We may not be your soulmates,” Bucky tacks on, “but doll, _we’re yours_.” He envelops her into his arms, into a hug, and she shakes and puts her hands on his arms like she can’t decide whether to push him away or hug him back. “I’m yours. Steve’s yours too. And you’re ours, doll. We don’t need words on our skins for it to be true.”

She sobs and presses into Bucky’s embrace, and when her hand reaches out for Steve too, Steve gladly takes it in his, kisses her knuckles and slides into the hug too. It’s not over, he knows that. But the way she wraps her arm around his and tangles their fingers together, welcoming him into the embrace, makes it feel like the worst has passed.

“I’m sorry,” she says, still crying. “I’m sorry I’m a mess.”

“You are a mess,” Bucky tells her quietly. “But that’s okay. We’re a mess too. And we’re happy to have you in the club.”

She gives him a thick, strangled laugh. “This can’t end well.”

Steve presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Then let’s not let it end.”

Her hand squeezes his. “Now _that_ ,” she murmurs, sniffling, “is the corniest thing I’ve ever heard you say to date.”

*

They don’t have sex that night. For the first time in four months, they’re all lying in bed clothed and covered, him and Steve wearing sleep pants and Darcy donning the shirt (Steve’s) that he gives her. The bed is just big enough that they can lie down shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, and they do so in silence, each waiting for sleep to take them.

But none of them fall asleep.

But none of them are seemingly brave enough to speak up either.

It goes on for a long time. The silence. _Two hours and thirty-seven seconds_ , the unwanted voice of his alter ego chimes in, and he thinks that if the Winter Soldier could feel amused, he’d probably _be_ amused.

As he stuffs his other persona back and away, Steve takes a deep breath, as if about to say something. And then he exhales, keeping quiet.

“Thor knows about us.” He blinks and looks at her. Steve does too. “He’s known since I started sleeping with you two.”

He would never have guessed. “Really?” he asks, turning onto his right side so he can look at her.

“Mm-hm,” she hums, feigning nonchalance, still staring at the ceiling. There was a hint of a blush on her face though, her skin so pale even the darkness couldn’t hide the slight tinge of color on her cheeks.

“How?” he asks.

“Steve,” she replies, her eyes darting to their lover.

“Me?” Steve says, frowning in confusion. “What’d I do?”

Her lips quirk up. “He said you couldn’t stop looking at me and grinning like a loon.”

“He did _not_ ,” Steve splutters, rising and leaning on his elbow to look at her.

“Okay, so I’m paraphrasing a bit,” she admits, her smile widening a little. “But that’s basically what he said.”

Steve props his head up on his fist. “Was he mad?” he asks.

“No,” she huffs a little, as if put out by the fact. “He approves.”

Steve glances at him, then looks back at her tentatively. “Did you not want him to approve?”

Her smile fades. “Honestly? I was so busy worrying over him finding out and squashing you two with Myuh-Myuh, I didn’t even consider what it’d be like if he was okay with this,” she makes a circular gesture with her finger, clearly referring to the three of them. “My brain sort of blanked out when he told me he knew.” She frowns. “And I think I went into shock. One minute I was at my desk, next thing I know, I’m in the elevator.”

She’s trying to redirect their conversation again. “And now?” he asks. “How do you feel about his approval of this?” He makes the same gesture she’d made.

Darcy’s lips part, but she’s quiet for a few long moments. “Guilty.”

“Why?” he prods gently.

“I didn’t tell him the truth,” she confesses. “He doesn’t know everything. And I feel like I…” Her jaw clenches, and he sees her swallow back a sob. “I feel like I…” She tries again, but whatever she wanted to say doesn’t make it out, and while she’s pretty much an open book, he still can’t suss out what it is she’d _really_ been about to say. “Like if I tell him,” she says instead, “then this would end. Like he’ll take back what he said about being happy for me.”

She’s telling the truth, at least. This is a truth. She feels this, _fears_ this, and he’s glad she’s opening up, letting them know what’s going through her head. (Now if only she’d tell them what else she’s thinking…)

“I don’t know Thor as well as you do,” Steve says, drawing her attention to him, “but I don’t see him taking that back.” Steve inches his hand towards hers, and the expression on his face when Darcy instantly takes his hand in hers is pure relief and happiness. “He loves you,” Steve continues, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. “He cares about you. If he says he’s glad for you, then he is. So if you want to tell him everything, tell him everything. And if he takes it badly, well, Bucky and I can take whatever Thor’s got in mind.”

Darcy doesn’t look placated. “But it’s not just Thor,” she says quietly. “It’s Tony and Bruce and Jane too. And Pepper, maybe, but she likes James’s cooking, so she’ll probably cut you guys some slack.”

He huffs a laugh. “Maybe,” he agrees. “But doll, since we’re talkin’ about people in the know, you should know that Banner knows too.”

She pauses. “He figured it out too?”

“Yes,” Steve nods. “After you showed him your…” He nods and glances towards her chest, and Darcy’s lips twitch up again.

“My breasts?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers.

 _I’m still not happy about that_ , he nearly grumbles aloud, that urge to punch Banner for seeing her half-naked returning to him.

“Figures,” she muses. “But at least he didn’t Hulk-smash you,” she adds, glancing at him. “He was pretty mad when he saw the bruise.”

He and Steve go still. “How mad?” he asks as Steve says, “He didn’t transform on you, did he?” and he suddenly doesn’t like it, the thought of her and Banner being alone. What if Banner transforms and Darcy’s the only one there? Like him with the Winter Soldier, Banner isn’t keen on letting his alter ego out, not knowing whether the ‘other guy’ would recognize the people he once fought with or become hostile and attack them.

“Nonono, don’t worry,” she spits out quickly, eyes going wide as she sits up and turns to look at them, curling her right leg underneath her and putting her hands on their knees. “He was in control the whole time, okay? I swear I wasn’t in any danger. Ask JARVIS if you don’t believe me.”

“Okay. We believe you,” Steve replies, putting his hand over hers. “We do. We just… had a moment of panic, is all.”

“A moment? You mean you’re done?” he asks Steve rhetorically, tugging Darcy closer, feeling a powerful, irresistible need to hold her and reassure himself that she’s safe, that no harm has come to take her away from them. She lets him hold her, thankfully, and he presses his face to her hair and neck, taking in her scent and feeling her warmth drape over his lap and against his chest. Steve inches closer too, and he looks up in time to see his better half press a kiss to her palm.

The kisses she presses to his cheek and Steve’s hand go a long way to soothing their concern.

“Bruce is my friend,” she tells them quietly. “I trust him. He’d warn me if Hulk tried to come out.”

He notices what’s missing from her words immediately. “And you’ll run,” he says firmly. “You run if he transforms. Don’t hesitate.”

“You bet your ass I’ll run,” she snorts. “Didn’t think that needed saying.”

Oh. Well, good.

“So,” she sighs. “Bruce knows. Natasha and Clint know. Thor knows. Jane doesn’t. I don’t even know if Erik has realized why you two are suddenly always around for lunch. What about Tony and Pepper?”

He trades a glance with Steve, and they both shrug. Darcy sighs. “Well, let’s put them in the ‘doesn’t’ column of that list, shall we? Innocent until proven guilty or something.”

…and she had redirected the conversation again. Shit, she’s really good at that.

“So you were worried that Banner would go Hulk on us?” he asks, nudging her gently back towards their earlier topic. “And Stark and Pepper… what? Kicking us out?” He’s not even gonna mention Foster, who doesn’t exactly inspire the same wariness their other housemates do in him.

Darcy sighs and starts scratching at the skin at the top of his neck, just along his hairline and almost behind his ear, and he very nearly melts and moans at the pleasurable sensations tingling through his body. “Something like that,” she admits, and he struggles to pay attention to her words instead of her actions. “I didn’t expect anyone to find out about the bruises, and when they did… They reacted so badly, didn’t they?”

“A bit,” Steve agrees.

“It was like… I was suddenly the girl who cried wolf one too many times, and they wouldn’t believe me when I said I asked for it. Like rough sex isn’t a thing I could possibly like.”

“Was it?” he asks, frowning a little at the thought of other men taking her the same way he and Steve do.

Darcy pauses long enough for it to be an answer on its own. “Oh god. Darcy, I’m so sorry,” Steve groans.

“For what? Showing me that there’s more to sex than lying on my back and getting on my knees?” she asks bluntly, and he stiffens at the insinuation in her words and her tone, suddenly feeling the desire to hunt down all her old lovers and crush their balls under his boot. “Steve, please don’t ever be sorry about how we met.”

“I’m not,” Steve says instantly. “God, Darcy, that’s not… I mean, I should’ve,” he gestures to her, “treated you right. Taken you on a date first, or at least on a bed first, not on the kitchen counter, _Christ_ —”

“I _just_ said,” she reminds him kindly, and Steve shuts up. “Steve, I don’t regret anything that we went through. It got us here, didn’t it?”

Steve swallows, and his smile comes out sad and regretful. “Coulda been less of a jerk to you,” he tells her. “I really am sorry, Darcy.”

“I know,” she nods, but he can feel her go tense in his arms. “Forget about it.”

“I can’t,” Steve whispers, his tone pained and somber.

“It’s okay not to forgive him,” he tells her quietly. Darcy snaps her face towards him in surprise, and the look on her face tells him he’d hit the nail on the head. “I know I said not to be, but it’s okay to be mad at him. At us. We earned it. So be mad. Make us grovel a little if that’s what you want.”

“James, no,” she shakes her head, tearing up. “I don’t want you to grovel—either of you. And I’m not mad. I get why he left—”

“Darcy,” he says quietly, cupping her cheek in his right hand. “Doll. It’s okay to be mad. Steve and I butt heads all the time, and we make up eventually. We ain’t gonna leave you if you get mad at us about anything, and we ain’t gonna leave if you say you can’t forgive us for anything. We can fight about stuff. It’s okay. That’s healthy.”

Darcy laughs wetly, and with an edge of hysteria. “Have you been reading relationship articles again?”

He pokes her side, making her squeak. “Hush, you. Steve didn’t know about that.”

“I do now,” Steven pipes in, smiling a little.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, flushing a little. “And stop redirecting the conversation,” he pokes her side again. “That’s the third time you’ve done it since we started talkin’ again.”

She blinks at him and furrows her brow. “Really?” she asks. “I didn’t notice.”

He gives her a considering look, recognizing the honest surprise on her face and thinking that maybe she’s doing it subconsciously. An automatic defense mechanism. “Oh,” he says, for lack of anything better to say to _that_. Well, anything neutral, that is. All the things that would draw out a negative response are just waiting in the back of his head to be used.

“He’s right, though,” Steve tells her. “Be angry at us, sweetheart. Make us work for it. I think… I think maybe that’s what we need?” Steve blows out a breath of air. “It’s not that I want any conflict, but we’ve… _never_ fought,” he says slowly, clearly rifling through his memories for confirmation of that statement. “Not once. And… that’s great, if there really isn’t anything to fight about. But we _do_ , we have stuff that’s… _unresolved_. Talking it out, we should do that. And if it leads to a fight, then let’s let it. And later,” he adds, glancing between the two of them, “later we’ll kiss and make up and forgive.”

“I don’t want to fight,” Darcy whispers, sounding _terrified_ at the idea. “Steve, I don’t wanna fight. My pa—” She sucks in a shaky breath and curls in on herself, and with a jolt, he realizes she’s entering a panic attack.

“Shit,” he swears, shifting her so that she has her back to his chest. “Darcy, breathe with me,” he tells her, memories of guiding a skinnier, sicklier Steve through an asthma attack flooding his mind. He’s not sure if this will work, needs to look into how to help her out of these attacks later on, but for now, he puts his hand over her chest and tells her to breathe in and hold, then breathe out again. Steve’s voice, calm and commanding, joins his own once he gets a clear rhythm going, and although Darcy struggles to follow it at first, she gets herself there within the next two minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says once she’s breathing steadily once more. “I’ll do my best to never let us fight, okay?”

“Sorry,” she breathes. “Sorry, I’m such a mess.”

“Like I said,” he tells her, “you’re already in the club.” She turns and curls into his side, and he lays them down holds her close, yanking Steve down as well. “Is this okay?” he asks as Steve slots himself against her back, putting them into their usual position.

“S’perfect,” she murmurs, and Steve relaxes and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“I love you,” his soulmate says, then reaches for his metal hand and lands a kiss on his knuckles. “I love you too.”

“We love you,” he replies for Darcy, who nods and pulls Steve’s hand up, tucking it underneath her arm.

And then she surprises them. “My parents were fighting when they died,” she says, out of the blue. “They were driving down to the courthouse to get a divorce. I was on the phone with my mom when it happened.”

(They know that. It was in her file. What they didn’t know was that it had affected her like this.)

(No wonder she doesn’t stand up for herself against Jane’s meddling, no matter how much she disliked it.)

“Darcy,” Steve whispers, “sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“You didn’t know,” Darcy murmurs. “How could you? I never said a thing. But there you go,” she sniffles and gives a sad little laugh. “That’s why I try not to fight with anyone. I mean, my parents… they loved me, no doubt about that. But fighting… it ended them, in many ways, and I don’t…” She hunkers down and presses her face to his chest. “I don’t want that to happen to us.”

He threads his fingers through her hair and kisses the top of her head. “Then like Steve said, let’s not let it end.”

Steve trails his hand over her arm. “Can you tell us more about yourself?” his soulmate asks tentatively. “I mean, you don’t have to. You can say no. I just—”

“I like the color orange,” she says quietly, her hand moving to touch his metal arm. “Before that, I liked red and yellow, because my dad used to give these beautiful tulips to my mother, back before they started fighting, and when I see red or yellow tulips, I remember them. I like Italian food because my dad’s half-Italian and he liked to experiment with his mother’s recipes. He taught me most of them after I finally got the hang of cooking edible stuff…”

*

Darcy doesn’t like to talk about herself, because most of who she is is entangled with memories of her parents. Since they pulled her nine-year-old self out of school up until she lost them at age sixteen, her parents had been her constant companions. They loved her, fed her, clothed her, sheltered her, and until she had to fend for herself, she never realized how much time they’d spent coddling her, keeping her away from the harsh realities of being an unmarked child and going so far as to avoid family reunions with her mother’s family because of their traditionalist views.

It had been difficult for her, after they died. She’d been taught to be brave and to look forward to the day her mark came, but being ‘a Blank’ at sixteen years old didn’t bode well for her, especially since she hadn’t known what being Blank meant to others until she came to live with her relatives. Her grandmother had been aghast to know that Darcy didn’t have a mark, telling her how being a Blank female lessened her chances of having ‘legitimate’ children. Her grandfather, during the times he remembered who she was, had been supportive of her, since he’d been Blank for the first twenty-four years of his life, but he was old and suffering from Alzheimer’s, so Darcy rarely had someone defending her inside the ‘family’ home even before he died. Neither her uncle nor her cousin were any source of support either, particularly since the former had been busy trying to steal her inheritance from under her nose and the latter had been sabotaging her reputation around the little town they lived in. (She still gets monthly e-mails from the family housekeeper on behalf of her grandmother, asking if she received her mark. She doesn’t even read those anymore, and since moving to the tower, she’d asked JARVIS to send an automated one-word reply each time it comes.)

So yeah, it’s not surprising that she doesn’t like talking about herself. (And to be fair, from what she’s researched about her ‘kind’, nearly all the other Blanks have the same habit, especially when they come from households with traditional views.)

But here and now, she _has to_. She has to or else she’ll _lose them_. Because as Steve asks her to open up to them, _again_ , she realizes that even though it’s not what she wants to do, she _cannot_ keep being selfish with them, can’t keep going on this way if she turns down a relationship—a _real_ relationship—with them. Steve will _always_ give her that pained look, blaming himself for her refusal to accept them as more than two bodies to have sex with, and James will resent the hell out of her for hurting Steve's feelings, and any progress their fucked up relationship has made will take a hundred steps back.

She can't handle that. She can't _fathom_ the idea of _dating_ them, but she can't handle not having them either. She can’t stand the thought of James hating her again, because she feels so much for him that sometimes the intensity of her emotions steals her breath away. And she can't stand the thought of Steve hurting because of her, because even though she can’t say the words to him, she loves him so much it that it hurt when she had to live without having him in her life.

She has to make the choice. Here and now. She has to decide which is worse: the idea of dating them, of doing this—whatever _this_ entails—and trying to actually make something out of the mess their relationship has become, or ending it now and walking away, walking away from _everything_.

Because if she ends it with them, she can't stay here. She can't stay in the tower, can’t go on seeing them every day, watching them be together, watching them _hurt_ because of her (and possibly having to put up with Jane's gloating again as her bruises fade and fail to be replaced). She can't be that selfish, can't be that self-absorbed.

Not with them.

Very few people ever face the watershed moments in their lives with the full knowledge that they're facing down that one irrevocable, life-altering choice. Most people only know it in hindsight. Lucky for her, she’s not most people.

So she makes her decision.

Darcy cuts him off before he can explain why he’s asking again. She already knows why, has heard him tell her why plenty enough times before. She starts with the innocuous, the little things, like her favorite color, orange, and how it was red and yellow before that, for the flowers her father used to bring her mother.

But somehow, telling them things about her turns into stories about her youth, and later about her parents. She tells them more about the cooking lessons with her dad, and then tells them about how she helped out around the ranch, taking care of the animals her mother bred and sold. She tells them about breaking her leg falling out of a tree because she was chasing a squirrel with her dog when she was eight and how her mother had to give her a mild painkiller before driving her to the hospital in the city, because she was crying so hard she kept jarring her leg with her sobs. She tells them about the summers she spent at camp, about how she now thinks she was sent there more to learn how to socialize with other people than to learn how to survive in the wilderness, and about returning home each time with a tan the stunning shade of lobster-red, making her feel belatedly grateful she was home-schooled.

She doesn’t tell them why she was home-schooled. She doesn’t mention that the flowers started coming after her mother revealed she was pregnant with another child, or that it stopped after she gave birth to a dead baby. She doesn’t talk about what happened to her after her parents died. She doesn’t mention her relatives at all.

She thought she’d regret it. Thinking about her parents always brought her back to the day they died, always made her remember the sound of the tires squealing and her mother screaming, the noise of glass breaking and the metal crunching, the roaring rush of water and long, unceasing honk of the horn and the way her mother abruptly went quiet. But with Steve at her back and James pressed close beside her— _Barnes_ , with Barnes pressed close beside her, her mind doesn’t let the bad memory in, focusing on the good parts instead, on telling them how amazing her parents were because they would never get the chance to meet them.

When she proclaims herself done, her voice starting to grow hoarse from all the talking she’d been doing, Steve kisses her with a passion that makes her go dizzy with breathless desire. “Thank you,” he tells her. “That was… More than I expected and everything I hoped for.”

She relaxes, only then realizing that part of her had been worried that she’d said too much, or that something she said might’ve put him off. “You’re welcome,” she whispers, sliding her hands up to his cheeks.

“I love you,” he says, the expression on his face deep and unreadable.

She tries to say it back, but still can’t bring herself to. “Still?” she jokes instead, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you miss the part where I’m a klutz and turn into a lobster if you leave me under the sun too long?”

“Still,” he agrees seriously, smoothing her hair back before brushing his knuckles over her cheekbone. “Always.”

“Same here,” James says— _Barnes_ says, bringing her hand up to kiss her palm. “Love you, doll.”

“Love you too,” she replies, leaning up for a kiss from him, and he meets her halfway, metal fingers cupping her right cheek to hold her there. “I— feel the same way about you too, Steve,” she says, then growls and sits up, huffing. “Ugh! _Why_ can’t I say it to you! God!”

Steve slides his hand up her back and pulls her in for a surprisingly aggressive kiss, and once she recovers from the surprise, she returns it enthusiastically, pouring her frustration and desire for him into the act until she feels something wet brush down her cheek. “I don’t know how you can,” Steve tells her hoarsely once she pulls back and sees the tears falling from his eyes. “I’ve been _terrible_ to you. I didn’t even _realize_ that you were still hurting over me leaving you—”

“Oh, Steve…” Darcy kisses him again, quieting him. “How could you?” she asks quietly. “I never let on. Never intended to.”

 _Barnes_ exhales and laughs a little. “Doll, didn’t we already have this conversation?” he asks, and she pauses, his words prompting her to recall the morning after they discovered the bruise he left on her breast.

“Right,” she smiles and bites her lip. “But that was for you two hurting me _physically_ —”

“That was for us hurting you in _any_ way,” he corrects her, shaking his head and tilting her face towards him. “It applies to everything.”

“Tell me please,” Steve murmurs solemnly, and what levity her other lover managed to bring to the atmosphere is sucked away by the pain in Steve’s voice. “What else have I done to you?”

Darcy pulls Steve to her, and he hugs her back as tightly as he can without hurting her. “That was it,” she tells him softly. “You left and it hurt. But you’ve _always_ been good to me, Steve. _Always_. Even then, when you were telling me why you had to stop seeing me, you were so nice about it. And I couldn’t hate you, because I understood why you left.”

“But you don’t forgive me for it,” Steve says quietly, and she frowns and pulls back in surprise.

“What?” she asks. “I… Oh, Steve, no, of course I forgive you,” she tells him earnestly, much to their obvious astonishment. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t…” She sighs, ashamed and apologetic. “I didn’t think I had to forgive you for that. I told you, I get why you left.”

“Jesus Christ, Darcy, how the hell are you _real?”_ Steve wonders, looking awed and pained at the same time.

She gives a little laugh. “I ask myself the same question about you,” she admits, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I forgive you, okay? And you, too,” she adds, looking over at James. Barnes. “No groveling or suffering needed. I don’t want that, not from you. Not from either of you.”

“It feels wrong,” Steve says quietly.

“Like we’re getting away scot-free,” Barnes agrees, frowning. It takes a moment for Darcy to realize that they might be feeling that way thanks to their combined mindsets of Catholicism, which encouraged undergoing penance for wrongful transgressions, and army, which supplied punishment as consequences.

“Steve, James,” she says gently, taking their hands and squeezing hers around them. “I forgive you. Okay? I forgive you both.”

“But…” Steve looks lost now. “But I hurt you. Darcy, don’t you… Darcy, you _should_ be angry.”

“I know,” she assures him softly. “But I’m not.” Steve huffs heavily, and she shakes her head at him, because the fact that he’s upset that she refuses to be mad at him is ridiculous. “I can’t stop you two from thinking that there’s something you need to be forgiven for,” she tells them. “But I don’t feel the same way. I think you did the right thi— I think you _both_ ,” she emphasizes, glancing between them, “did the right thing. You for coming back for Steve,” she tells J— Barnes, “and you—” she gestures to Steve with their entwined hands, “—for going back to him. That was the _right_ thing to do, and I shouldn’t have to forgive either of you for choosing to be with your soulmates. For choosing to _try_ with your soulmates.” She shakes her head and shrugs. “Why would I be angry at you for that?”

“But I didn’t just go back to him, Darcy,” Steve pushes. “I _left_ you.”

“Steve,” she sighs, now trying to think of a way for them to compromise. “Are you mad that I’m not mad?”

“No,” Steve denies instantly. She raises her eyebrows at him. “Yes,” he admits. “Wait, no. I— ugh,” he exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t understand why you’re not angry at me,” he tells her, his tone begging her for an explanation.

“Because I understand why you left,” she repeats, praying for patience. “I get it.”

“Darcy!”

“Steve!” she replies, in nearly the same frustrated tone with a slight, incredulous laugh. “I’m. not. mad. I’m not mad! God! How many times do I have to say that to you before you realize my answer isn’t going to change!” He rears back, blinking at her with surprise, and she deflates as she realizes how she’d spoken to him. “I’m sorry,” she says, exhaling deeply and sliding off of his lap. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Got mad?” James asks. Barnes. Barnes asks. Christ.

She gives him a withering look that wipes the amused tilt off his lips. “I can get mad,” she sighs. “I just… don’t like to. It feels awful and it doesn’t help anything.” She twists her lips to the side, debating whether to say it, but in the end, she shares, “I didn’t like it when I got mad at Jane. I don’t want to feel that way about you two. So please,” she adds, “stop trying to push me there.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly. “That’s not what I want either. I just…” He shakes his head. “I just don’t get it.”

Jesus _Christ_.

Okay, she’ll admit, if only to herself, that she _is_ starting to feel a little bit mad at them. _Now_. Not for Steve leaving her or James— _Barnes_ making him leave her, not for them hurting her feelings or making her feel less that she is. Because [and no, she’s never going to tell them this, but] he’s not the first person she’s dated who dumped her to be with his soulmate.

She gets that. She understands that.

What she _is_ getting a little miffed about is his—their—desire for her to get mad at them, to make them ‘suffer’ and ‘grovel’ for her forgiveness. Yes, Steve had hurt her, and yes, Barnes had made him choose. But that won’t change the fact that she wasn’t mad at them for their perceived transgressions, and she still doesn’t want them to suffer and grovel because yes, she doesn’t think there is anything for them to be sorry for.

Perhaps she’d be mad if Steve left her for someone who _isn’t_ his soulmate, but that’s not the case here. Steve left her for Jame— _Barnes_ , his soulmate, and that was okay with her.

End of story.

Or at least, it should’ve been. Instead, they’re looking for her nonexistent anger, are practically pushing her towards it, and the only way she can stave it off and hold onto her pacifist side is to do _this_ , is to push back.

Darcy inhales deeply and purses her lips, a dark little thought crossing her mind. “All right, fine,” she says, pushing up into a sitting position. “You two want punishment? I can do that.”

Barnes exchanges a look with Steve, and Darcy thinks it looks like ‘ _Finally!’_ “What do you have in mind?” he asks, the both of them straightening their shoulders, as if bracing themselves for a blow.

She smiles tightly. “Your punishment,” she says firmly, “is that you can’t ask for punishment.”

They blink at her, and for a moment, she thinks about counting to three in anticipation of the protest that was sure to come.

She wouldn’t have even made it to two.

“Darcy,” Steve says sternly, which, again, is a little funny considering who’s asking for what here. “We’re serious.”

“So am I,” she replies, unconsciously lifting her chin up in defiance. “You want this, but I’m not giving it to you. You have to figure out how to forgive yourselves and get past this. Because _I_ have. _I’m_ past it, and I wish that you would stop blaming yourselves already because we’ve hashed this out! We’ve said our pieces, but god, you’re still pushing for _more_. You want to earn my absolution, but I’m already giving it to you, and you. don’t. want it!”

“Because I don’t. _deserve_ it,” he responds in the same tone, tensing up. “I’m not pushing for more, Darcy, I’m trying to get you to see that what I did was _wrong_ —”

“What part of it was wrong!” she demands incredulously, and she cringes and rolls to the foot of the bed when her tone shuts him up, putting what she thinks is some much-needed distance between them.

“Darcy, I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, looking stricken as his shoulders relax and unstiffen, and the thought that this would be yet another thing he’ll add to the weight he’s trying to put on himself makes her toughen up to stand against him. Just for now.

Just this once.

“What part of it was wrong?” she says again, calmly this time. “Steve, you didn’t just leave. Okay? You didn’t drop me like a hot potato. You came to me, you told me what happened, you told me why you needed to stop coming to me. You were reasonable, and you were nice, and you explained yourself. And Steve, my god,” she breathes, laughing bitterly, “I _let_ you leave. I watched you walk away from me, and I didn’t even—” The thought comes to her out of nowhere and slams into her like a fist to the face, and the realization clicks something into place inside of her.

 _Oh_.

“Darcy?” They shift forward slowly, worry crossing their faces.

“Doll, what is it?”

The touch of their hands on her knee and ankle ground her, and she sucks in a breath and looks up at Steve through the tears that suddenly sting at her eyes. “I didn’t even fight for you,” she finishes, bringing her hands up to her mouth.

And she didn’t. _Hasn’t_. Her need to keep the peace between herself and those she cares about had backfired on her, her experience with her marked ex-boyfriends combined with her silence on the matter helping to end what they had.

Oh god. _This_ is why she struggles to tell him she loves him! Because, on some subconscious level, she’d known that like the forgiveness she’s offering him now, she has done nothing to earn the right to love Steve. She can tell James because they’ve had to struggle and fight (with each other, no less) to get to where they are now (and that didn’t even count, did it? Because she’d fought him _over_ Steve, not _for_ Steve), and she can tell Thor because of the trials and the friendship and respect they’ve built together. Even her [now-crumbling] relationship with Jane had started out wobbly due to their clashing personalities, and it had only improved after the terrifying events they’d been sucked into back in Puente Antiguo.

But Steve… She hasn’t earned him, not really. It’s just that he gives and gives and she takes and takes, and that’s just… that’s not fair.

Steve thinks he hasn’t earned her forgiveness, but it’s Darcy who hasn’t earned _him_. Not the way she’s earned James, or Thor or Jane.

She needs to _deserve_ him, needs to give him _something_ back—

“Darcy, nonono, don’t think like that,” Steve tells her, gathering her onto his lap, and if not for the way she’s biting her tongue behind her hands, she’d have thought she was thinking aloud again. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs as he tugs her hands down and brushes his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “Please don’t think of it like that.”

“Oh fuck,” she says, sniffling as she realizes the parallels of their perceived slights. “I think I get why you feel like you’re in the wrong now.”

He exhales harshly and pulls her into a firm embrace. “Don’t,” he replies gruffly. “Don’t think this is your fault. It’s mine.”

“God, _shut. up_ ,” she tells him, sniffling again. “We’re both idiots.” James clears his throat pointedly. “No, you’re not an idiot,” she huffs, smiling at him a little as she takes his hand in hers. “You’re probably the smartest one in the room for coming here at all.”

“Ah, but I was an idiot before I got smart,” he corrects her gently, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. “Now, I know why Steve’s an idiot, considering how often it’s been mentioned already, but why are you one too?”

She sniffles and pulls back, cupping Steve’s cheeks and looking at him seriously. “You said you were in love with me by the time James came here,” she reminds him. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, brushing her hair back.

“Can you answer me honestly?” she asks.

“Of course,” he replies earnestly.

She inhales deeply, bracing herself, then asks, “Would you have come back if I asked you to, even after you said you needed to stop seeing me?”

Steve swallows and closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Darcy… I don’t know.”

“Me neither,” she admits softly. “And now we’re never gonna know. It wasn’t just you, Steve. You didn’t make that choice alone. I did too. So you see,” she smiles sadly and gives a small shrug, “we’re both to blame.”

He sighs heavily and shakes his head. “Me more than you,” he replies stubbornly.

“It’s not a competition,” she murmurs, frowning at him, and he looks chastised at that.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s not what I meant. I just— I wish you wouldn’t blame… yourself…” He trails off, realization and understanding crossing his face. “Oh.”

Darcy smiles slightly, relieved that he finally understands what she’s been saying to him. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Oh.” She slides her hands down to his shoulders and squeezes. “Do you get it now? How _I_ feel? I don’t blame you for leaving. You don’t blame me for not saying anything. Neither of us blame you,” she looks to James, “for coming back. We can blame ourselves for the mistakes we think we’ve made, we can feel what we think we should feel but… but that’s not going change anything. It’s over and done with, and we need to move on from it.”

Steve’s shoulders tense up briefly, like he’s still ready to defend his opinion, but then they slump down again, and he nods, reluctant agreement coloring his face. “All right,” he sighs, moving his hands to her back and pulling her into a hug. “I still think you’re letting me off easy, but I get it,” he murmurs. “And you’re right. We should move on from this.”

Thank god.

“C’mere,” she tells James, who shimmies closer and wraps his arms around both her and Steve, resting his head against hers. “Are _we_ good?”

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “We’re good, doll. I promise.”

She exhales heavily, relief and fatigue washing away the slight irritation that flared at Steve’s stubbornness. “Fantastic,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and feeling sleep touch the edges of her. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Steve gives a small laugh. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

“Sweet,” she yawns, and is out like a light before they can even lie down.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy finally agrees to that date, but she's not without her insecurities. Steve is ecstatic, of course, but he's just as big a worry wart as Darcy is. Luckily, Bucky's there to keep them from imploding their date before it can even begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, SO sorry for the long wait. I thought I knew where I was taking this story, but then one scene went wrong and I couldn't find a way to salvage it and had to start all over again. And again. And... well, many agains passed me by before I finally fixed this up.
> 
> I don't even know how well I did here, you guys will have to tell me. *crosses fingers, squints, thinks positive thoughts*
> 
> This chapter is for clinozoisite, Maharet, CuriousKiris, Kyaraelf, buhfly and anedella, who all would've kicked me in the shin if they could so I could hurry up and post. LOL, kidding. At least, I hope I'm kidding...?
> 
> ...I just confused myself.
> 
> Anyway, no porn, sorry, this is just the date. *hears everyone yell in dismay*
> 
> Sorry! *ducks all the rotten tomatoes* Next chapter, promise =D

She dreams about her parents that night, and truth be told, she’d expected it. Talking about them always brings her back to That Day.

What she _doesn’t_ expect is that she _doesn’t_ dream about That Day.

Instead, she finds herself in the kitchen of her childhood home, setting the table as James and her father labor at the stove, arguing over the amount of spices James had put into the pot while Steve and her mother come in through the backdoor, commenting on the delicious smell permeating the air. If she discounts Steve and James’s presence, it would be a familiar scene, one that used to occur on a nightly basis, so Darcy expects it when her father playfully points the duo upstairs, urging them to wash the mixed, pungent smell of animal away before they put them off their dinner, or get hair in the food. Steve drops a kiss on her and James’s lips as he passes them by.

When they return, looking and smelling fresher than before, Steve helps the other two men bring the food out, and her mother takes a moment to press a fond kiss to Darcy’s forehead before they sit down to eat. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” her mother says, and then Darcy wakes up just as Steve leans down to kiss her the back of her head and James lifts her hand to his lips.

“Good morning,” she hears Steve say quietly against her hair.

“Mornin’,” James replies, his breath rolling over her palm, voice thick with sleep.

It takes her consciousness a few moments to surge past the dream and remember what happened, and she promptly ignores the way her heart gives a traitorous little skip at the notion that her mother approves of what she’s done, approves of Steve and James. _The dead can’t want_ , she reminds herself, because while Darcy misses her fiercely, her mother is dead, has _been_ dead for ten years now, and Darcy has long ago learned to shed herself of the ‘your parents would have wanted you to…’ mentality that her uncle and grandmother had used to influence her sixteen-year-old self’s decisions. _It was just a dream. It was all in your head_.

“She still sleeping?” Steve asks, taking her focus off the odd dream.

James hums an affirmative, shifting slightly underneath her. “Still not running?”

“No,” comes the soft reply. “Gonna be here when she wakes up.”

Her heart skips another beat at the sentiment, but her mind protests, not wanting him to change his routine because of what she said last night. She opens her mouth to tell him to go, but he manages to speak first, and what he says makes her gut twist and her heart leap to her throat.

“I think we should stop sleepin’ with her,” Steve says. “Woo her properly first. Buy her flowers, maybe take her to the pictures or to a dancehall. Take her out to dinner, at least.”

“ _No_ ,” James tells him firmly, his fingers tightening around her hand while his shoulder flexes under her head. The hiss of pain that comes from Steve tells her that James has done _something_ to chastise the man at her back. “Anythin’ but that, Steve, _Christ_. Think about how it’ll sound if you tell her not to sleep with us anymore. She’ll think you’re sayin’ goodbye to her again.”

 _Damn straight_ , she thinks, grateful for James’s accurate input.

“Shit, you’re right,” Steve murmurs, sounding aggravated, and he exhales heavily while pressing his lips to the back of her head.

“Steve,” James says, “look. She told us we couldn’t ask for punishment, but she didn’t tell us not to try makin’ it up to her, right? So we just… treat her right. We can woo her, like you said, and we can take her places when she’s ready for that, and we can buy her stuff to let her know we think about her—”

“Or you could just give me a couple of massages,” she cuts in, her throat a little dry and raspy from both sleep and all the talking she did last night. “Back rubs, foot rubs, head rubs. And orgasms, of course. Lots of ‘em.”

Steve squeaks—like really _squeaks_ —in surprise once she starts talking, and she grins, promptly _very_ amused. “How long have you been awake?” he demands when she’s done speaking.

“Long enough,” she replies in a purposefully vague manner. “So,” she continues, lifting her leg to slide her big toe up Steve’s calf. “Yes to the massages and orgasms?”

“We already give you orgasms, doll,” James says, sounding as amused as she feels instead of sharing in Steve’s surprise. Going by that, Darcy thinks he may have known she was awake after all. “Not much of an effort on our part, is it?”

“So it’s settled then,” she hums, squeezing him a little. “Massages and orgasms.”

He gives a small laugh. “All right, fine. Massages and orgasms.” His shoulder flexes again, and Steve gives a small grunt before sighing gustily and agreeing. “Didja want one of those now, doll?”

She smiles and pulls herself on top of him, dragging her tongue over his nipple and making her way up to his jaw. “In a bit,” she murmurs, kissing his Adam’s apple, then sliding off of him again and rolling to the edge of the mattress. “I gotta bathroom.”

He groans. “Tease,” he calls after her, making her grin and shoot him a wink as she slips into the other room and then locks the door behind her.

She takes stock of herself as she sits down on the toilet to do her business, trying to gauge how she’s feeling after her talk with them last night. Because last night was the most personal she’s ever been with either of them, and she thinks she should be uncertain, unsure of what she’s feeling now that she’s opened up about some parts of her past. She thinks she should feel a bit wrung out and in serious need a few hours of Darcy-time to recover from last night’s emotional outpour. She thinks she should need time to process everything, needs a few moments to herself and figure out whether she still wants the same thing she did last night.

But then she realizes that no, she _hasn’t_ changed her mind, and yes, she _is_ still okay with it. She doesn’t _want it_ , not really, but if it means getting to stay with them, then she’ll do it. It’s a means to an end, and hopefully, the end is a good one.

At the very least, she has to try, right?

She washes her hands, brushes her teeth and drinks a bit of cool water from the tap before washing her face, all the while thinking back to everything she and Steve and James had talked about last night, and she winces when she realizes that she still hasn’t addressed the dating thing. James was right—she _does_ have a tendency to redirect the conversation.

But whatever. She’s sure that one of them (she’ll put her money down for Steve on this) will bring it up soon enough.

She looks at herself in the mirror as she pats her face dry, and strangely enough, she’s surprised when she finds she doesn’t look any different. She’d expected it for some reason, as if baring bits of her past would’ve had a physical effect on her. Like maybe she would’ve grown a bit older in some way, or turned back into her sixteen-year-old self, or gotten a wart on her nose, or _something_. It’s somehow disappointing to see that nothing about her seems to have changed at all.

When she finally opens the door, it’s to find Steve standing about a foot away from the doorway and James pulling his running shoes on. The room is brighter now, the tints on the windows gone to let in the morning light, illuminating the right sides and casting shadows on the left sides of his face. Steve smiles at her faintly, tentatively, and she smiles back, relieved to see no intention on his face that suggests a desire to pursue last night’s topic. He doesn’t move though, clearly waiting for her to give him a clue as to how to proceed.

She almost huffs. “Come here, baby,” she tells him, raising her hand to cup his cheek and curl her fingers in his hair a little for purchase, so she can pull him carefully to her, meeting his lips with her own. He exhales in relief, the air tickling over her skin as he kisses back, though he doesn’t let it go on for long.

“Give me a minute too,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead before disappearing into the bathroom, and she smiles at James, who looks far too smug to not have talked some sense into their lover.

“Thank you,” she says, walking towards him and leaning up to kiss him too. “You’re the best.”

“Was nothin’,” he replies, blushing a little, then stops her before she can cup him through his pants. “Later, doll. We’ll get our time later, promise.”

“And you’re going where, exactly?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Gonna go for a run,” he answers as he moves her hands up to his shoulders and slides his own down to her back. “Give you and Steve some room. We,” he gestures between them, “will have our moment later. It’s our boy who needs your attention right now.”

She smiles at the possessive adjective he uses to describe Steve and feels something inside her uncurl and relax. “I love you,” she says, unable to resist the words.

His gaze softens. “I love you too,” he returns, moving in for a kiss that makes her body tingle at the sweetness of it. “I’ll be back in an hour, then I’ll cook us breakfast.”

“Hurry back,” she tells him.

“No, doll,” he says, kissing her forehead. “He really needs you right now, sweetheart, so just take your time with him.” He lowers his voice then. “The guilt… Nobody does guilt like our Steven. Y’gotta show him you mean what you said last night.”

She freezes, anxiety threading through her. The last thing she said last night was that they had to move on from the guilt brought on by their mistakes with each other, and she _does_ mean that, but fuck if she knows how to do that.

“How?” she asks, gripping his shoulders a little tightly. “James, how do I show him that? I can’t even tell him that I love him!” And then she realizes what she’d just said, and just like that, her guilt returns. “To his face, anyway,” she amends, “because apparently, I can say the words to _you_ —”

“Calm down,” he interrupts her, sliding his hands up and down her back in soothing circles.

“I’m an awful person,” she groans, trying to turn away from him.

He doesn’t let her, his hands sliding up to cup her face and make her look at him. “Darcy,” he says, firm and gentle at the same time, “you are _not_ an awful person. Because if you’re awful for not being able to say it, then so was I,” he adds before she can refute his claim, smiling self-deprecatingly as he brushes his thumbs over her cheekbones. “Just be yourself. You might not be able to tell him, but you’ve been showing him you love him for a long time now. Just keep doing that. Okay?”

She swallows and nods, still nervous, but no longer as bogged down by it as she had been before. “Okay,” she nods. “Got it.”

He smiles at her, fingers brushing lightly along her cheek, and somehow, she manages to read the situation just right and leans up just as he leans down, their lips meeting in a soft kiss that still manages to send a hot thrill through her.

“I knew you would,” he murmurs, and with one last kiss, he disappears out the door, just as Steve emerges from the bathroom.

She crawls back into bed and pats the space on her right. “C’mere,” she says simply, and he obeys, breathing her in once he’s got his nose pressed to her cheek. Later, she’ll remember what she’d betted on in the bathroom and be humorously relieved her bet was one she made with herself, but for now, she doesn’t even think twice when the idea comes to her and simply asks, “You still interested in dating me?”

Steve’s eyes widen, and he goes breathless with surprise. “Yeah?” he replies, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him.

“Yeah,” she says, and his arms tighten around her, his body starting to tremble against hers as his eyes tear up. “Dinner tonight. I’ll cook and you’ll help,” she tells him.

Her heart pangs empathetically when the tears fall and he sucks in a shaky breath. “You got it, sweetheart,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and the sight of his unmasked relief makes her impulsive, makes her reckless, and the words start pouring out of her mouth, seeking to soothe him, to reassure him that they were fine.

The fact that he cannot seem to grasp that she forgives him and that she doesn’t want to punish him no longer irritates her. Last night, she’d been tired, and wary and unsure, and her own insecurity and fear had blinded her to the pain that’s been shining nakedly on his face. She sees it all now though, and all she wants to do is to make it stop, to make him stop hurting.

Eventually, he stops shaking and his tears finally stop coming. “What…” He licks his lips and suddenly looks wary and hopeful at the same time. “What about Bucky?”

“We’ll tell him later,” she assures him, and he relaxes, his relief hanging between them almost tangibly.

“Okay,” he says, and she smiles and leans in to kiss him, light and brief, making him smile tremulously when they part. “I love you,” Steve tells her, and she abruptly wishes she could return the words to him.

Darcy brushes her fingers over his cheek. “Show me,” she replies, then swoops in for a firmer, deeper kiss.

(He does show her. Happily.)

*

Steve cancels all his appointments for the day and sits down with Bucky to discuss what they’re going to do for dinner. They’re both excited that Darcy wants to do this, that she’s said yes to dating them, _finally_ , and they’re hell-bent on making this date so good that she doesn’t hesitate to agree to another one.

“We should get her something for tonight,” he says, his mind on the things they’d talked about after Darcy fell asleep. The two of them had tossed around ideas on how to reassure Darcy that neither Steve nor Bucky would ever abandon her, and while Bucky played the part of the devil’s advocate too well when he listed all the reasons why they _shouldn’t, not yet_ , they had both been more than keen on the ideas of putting a ring on her finger and/or having her move in with them.

(“Eventually,” Bucky had said. “We’ll ask when she’s ready to hear it.”)

“Wine?” Bucky suggests.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Steve agrees, even though his thoughts had run more along the lines of jewelry.

 _Too soon, Rogers_ , he thinks to himself as he follows Bucky’s lead and dons a disguise before heading out the door. _Later. Date three. Or maybe date two, hm_ …

Neither of them know anything about good wine, so for the first time ever, they invite Natasha for a stroll around the commercial levels of the tower to help find the perfect wine that’ll go with anything Darcy makes. (Neither of them will _ever_ tell her that they’d asked Pepper first.)

Natasha happily goes with them, expressing her pleased relief that they had—in her words—gotten their heads out of their asses, and proves herself invaluable to their decision making process. Namely in that she smacks them both up the head when they start eyeing the display cases of every jewelry shop they pass by.

“Stop looking over there,” she tells them again, harshly this time, because the other times she says it obviously hasn’t sunken in. “This is literally your first date with her. Handing her a ring will not result in a romantic ending; it will send her into a damn panic attack. _Stop it_.”

That… still doesn’t quite stop them, but neither do they enter any of the jewelry stores, so Natasha’s satisfied in the end.

Instead, they let her take them to a high-end—what other kind would there be in the tower?—liquor store and lead them to the beers.

“Um, wine?” Steve says, pointing to the opposite side of the room.

“Darcy told me what she’s making,” Natasha replies, moving through the aisle and obviously searching for a particular kind of beer. “Trust me. Beer is the way to go. Ah,” she hums, picking out two cases of Guinness for them. “Here.”

“What’s she making?” Bucky asks, his accent disappearing the way it always does when he speaks to Natasha. “And how did you find out?”

“You’ll find out tonight,” she answers, smirking as she takes a third case out and lugs it to the cashier. “And, I asked.”

Nothing they say or do or promise can loosen Natasha’s lips about the subject, and they don’t get to ask Darcy either because Jane locks down the astrophysics floor to begin retesting the device she’s been working on with Tony and Erik. They even briefly worry that dinner would be canceled, though Darcy (through JARVIS) assures them that she’ll see them at six o’clock to start cooking.

Nevertheless, by the time to meet up for dinner arrives, Steve has worked himself up into a slight frenzy, worrying over their ‘present’ (which is already on their shelf in the pantry) and wondering if he should’ve gotten her something else after all, and then looking up ‘first date gift ideas’ and ending up researching the different types of salads he can make (depending on what Darcy’s whipping up, of course). He nearly goes off to the gym to kill time by pounding it out on a punching bag, or maybe spar with his too amused-looking soulmate, but then Bucky asks him what he’s going to wear, and he ends up going through his entire closet to search for an outfit that’ll be presentable enough without being too formal or too casual (or scare her away somehow).

Why does he suddenly own so many denim pants?

 _Where_ on _Earth_ are all his slacks?

Bucky, the jerk, watches him fret and worry with no small amount of amusement until the last minute, then drags him into the shower to blow all Steve’s worries out of his, uh, head.

“Better?” his other half asks, looking smug.

“Yeah, thanks,” he pants, resting his head against the tiled wall and trying to get his wits back together.

“Good, now do _me_ ,” Bucky grins, taking Steve's hand and wrapping it around his length. Steve rolls his eyes in fond exasperation and shifts off the ledge, pushing Bucky back so he can get his mouth around his lover’s erection.

By the time they manage to shower and get out, they only have five minutes left to get to the kitchen, and Bucky finally helps him solve his clothing dilemma by picking out a Henley, jeans and the brown boots Natasha got him that Steve has never worn before.

“You— you jerk!” he half-whines (okay, maybe not just _half_ -whines) when he realizes that Bucky had distracted him needlessly. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Because you needed something else to get into a tizzy over before you pounded it all out in the gym,” Bucky tells him, already in his jeans and bending over to buckle up his boots. “At least this way,” he adds, “I didn’t have to follow you all over the tower or get my face rearranged sparring with you.”

Steve frowns. “I wouldn’a hit you so hard,” he replies.

Bucky smacks his shirt against Steve’s ass. “Don’t be insulting,” he chides, then tugs the shirt on. “Now get dressed. God, you’re slow.”

He obeys, hurrying to put his clothes on, his excitement rearing its eager head once more.

The moment the elevator opens, they hear a faint, rhythmic beat wafting down the hall from where the kitchen is, and they walk into the room to find that Darcy had already started, the scent of food already pervading the air. Steve’s mouth waters as his nose sniffs out the promise of an amazing meal.

The sound of their entry makes her look up, and the stuttering staccato of her chopping ends abruptly when she nearly gets her thumb instead of the apple she’s slicing. “Jesus,” she gasps, snapping her hands up and holding them apart and far from the chopping board. “That was close.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says as he and Steve scurry over to check her hands. “Didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.”

“It’s fine,” she replies as Steve exhales in relief when they find no injuries, glad she hadn’t hurt herself because they surprised her.

And then he gapes a little, because Lord have mercy, she’s wearing an _apron_. It’s white with a pair of large lips wearing a chef’s hat, making it quite possibly the most humorous article of clothing she’s ever worn, but the sight of her in it has Steve’s imagination and libido banding together to let him know how much they’d like him to strip her down until only the apron is left.

He’s not aware of making a sound until Bucky snorts and Darcy smiles at him with a hint of confusion. “What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he replies gruffly, swallowing and clearing his throat to rid it of the roughness that clings to his words.

Bucky shoots him a knowing smirk and hooks his finger around the end of the ribbon she’d made over her neck. “I think he likes this on you,” he tells her, tugging at the material ever so slightly.

Much to their surprise, Darcy rolls her eyes and wrinkles her nose. “That’s sexist, Steve,” she says, and he realizes she’d taken Bucky’s words the wrong way.

Bucky rolls his eyes as well. “I meant,” he replies, undoing the ribbon with a slight yank, “that he _likes_ this on you.”

Her eyes widen in realization, and she flushes and bites her lip, her pupils dilating tellingly. “Oh,” she breathes, and Steve knows that she’d let him do what he’d thought of doing just moments before. “Sorry.”

Bucky hums and slides his silver hand over her belly, dragging the apron down while pulling her against him so that her back is against his chest. “Sheath the claws, kitten,” he purrs, nuzzling the back of her right ear. “Use it later, when we’re back in bed.”

Darcy looks down as she bites her lip. “Promise?” she asks in a much quieter tone than Steve expected, and despite the effort she puts into it, their sweet, darling girl can’t completely hide the insecurity that flares in her eyes.

 _Oh Darcy_ , he manages not to say aloud as he abruptly remembering his suggestion this morning, the one about them not sleeping together while they woo her properly. She must have overheard him say it, and god, he feels awful now, because where he’d spent the day being excited and happy, she had probably spent it stressing and fretting. Hell, the smell and the heat emanating from the oven tells him she’d cooked without them, and he can’t help but wonder how long she’s been at this and if she’d really spent her lunchtime working with Jane, or if she had actually spent all day preparing for a date he’d asked for, all while worrying over something he had no intention of doing.

He would _never_ make her feel abandoned, not again.

“JARVIS,” he says as he guides her away from the counter and into his arms, “activate privacy protocols, please.”

“Privacy protocols activated, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS obliges, and Steve wordlessly slides his palm over her arm while curling the index finger of his other hand underneath her chin to tip her face up, and the way she tiptoes up to meet his kiss firmly makes him feel like he’s been absolved of his transgression, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

Steve leans in to kiss her again, deeper than the one before. He’s relieved when she responds eagerly, groaning when the smell of her shampoo reaches his nose—because the mere scent of her is enough to stir his arousal—and huffing a slight laugh when her hands dive under his shirt, nails raking over his abdomen.

“Dinner first,” he has to remind her (and himself as well), gently pulling her hands out from under his shirt. Darcy gives an unhappy sound and presses her forehead to his chest, clutching at his shirt with both hands.

“You’re a tease, Steven,” she grumbles, making him smile at the accusation.

“You like it when I tease,” he murmurs back, and somehow, this is the right thing to say, because the tension still clinging to her spine melts right off of her.

Suddenly, he realizes something: Darcy is nervous. It’s not hard to figure out what she’s nervous about.

“Sleep in our bed tonight,” he half-asks, half-commands, hoping to reassure her that yes, _of course_ he and Bucky want her—will always want her—and he’s rewarded at the feel of her shivering as the words slip from his lips to her ears.

“Yes,” she replies breathlessly, her hands coming up to clutch at the front of his shirt. “Please,” she sighs right before she pulls him in, their next kiss hungrier than the last.

Her answer makes part of him wonder what the hell he’d done to deserve her, to deserve the way she always seems to want him. Another part of him is simply very pleased and satisfied that she _does_ , and it’s _that_ part of him that urges him to sit her on the counter, tip her head back, and take control of their kiss. Neither of them notice Bucky rolling his eyes and smirking as he saves the chopping board full of apples from being squished under her ass, Steve too distracted by Darcy and her decadent moan and Darcy too busy trying to pull him closer, her legs spreading to make room for him between them.

They pause briefly when the chopping sound resumes, Bucky taking over the task, but he smiles and tisks at hem, waving the knife at them briefly as he says, “Well, don’t stop on my account,” giving Steve a pointed look that basically commands him to keep going.

Steve grins and leans in for another kiss, seeing her cheeks flush red right before he closes his eyes, and again, he’s incredibly pleased when Darcy kisses back, warm breath rolling over his cheek as she exhales slowly through her nose.

It should’ve felt off, this date. Back when Bucky was still gone, Steve had always imagined his first date with Darcy to happen in a restaurant, imagined candles and mood music and some easy conversation and the promise of being able to kiss her good night at the door (and the hope that she’d let him ruck her skirt up and take her against it). The reality of it is far from the fantasy, clearly, because the date isn’t in a restaurant, the lights are bright, the music a bit more upbeat than he’d expected, and Darcy isn’t wearing a skirt. But it’s better too, _because_ it’s so far off from the fantasy he’s created in his mind.

(It also may have something to do with the fact that he can touch and tease her through her clothes, something he doesn’t think he could’ve gotten away with in a restaurant.)

“Di— dinner,” he croaks out as she grasps his hips and pulls him towards her, Darcy bucking herself forward so she can press her covered crotch against his.

“Five more minutes,” she bargains breathily, her hands sliding up his sides and down his arms to curl her fingers around his wrists and bring his hands up to her clothed breasts. “Please?”

It’s the little peck she lays on his bottom lip—sweet and chaste and romantic all at once—on top of the small spark of insecurity that makes her face tic, that convinces him to give in. And honestly, it’s not like he hasn’t fantasized about making out with Darcy in the kitchen like this.

(They’ve barely even started, but it’s already the best date ever.)

*

Truth be told, he’d been worried that one of them would do something to spoil the date. It was almost-painfully clear that both Steve and Darcy had walked into the kitchen with hopes of having some sort of perfect evening, and only _he_ seemed to be aware that his lovers had different ideas in mind when it came to a ‘perfect evening’. Steve, judging by the websites he’d been looking at earlier, had obviously been envisioning something more traditional, like a three-course meal and wine and dancing. Darcy, on the other hand, had been aiming for informal and intimate, something that promised sex at some point after the meal, judging by the dessert she chose.

Those differences alone should’ve meant that one of their expectations wouldn’t be met, not to mention that any one of them could’ve said or done the wrong thing at any time within the two hours they spend cooking and eating and cleaning up.

The date [almost surprisingly] goes off without a hitch. Darcy indulgently allows him to take over knife duties for her, and Steve seems to relax so much more after nearly ten minutes of necking with their girl on the counter. He doesn’t mind being left out for a while, because once Darcy is in Steve’s arms, all the tension bleeds out of her, as if she’d needed _Steve’s_ reassurance to keep going—

(—and, in retrospect, he supposes that she must’ve really needed it, because although Darcy’s relationship with him has already found stable ground, her relationship with Steve is still being mended. He hadn’t realized it before, but yes _of course_ it wasn’t just Steve who needed to be reminded that Darcy loves him, even if she still can’t quite say those very words to him; Darcy needs reminding that Steve loves her back, loves her just as much.)

—but he does have to cut in when Steve starts trying to undo the buttons of Darcy’s shirt.

“ _Ahem_ ,” he says pointedly, and Darcy shoots him a dirty look when Steve pulls away, clearing his throat as he steps back.

“Right,” Steve says, cheeks flushed from chagrin and all the kissing he’d been doing. “So. Dinner.”

Darcy sighs with no small disappointment and hops off the counter. “Here,” she says, pushing the basket of fruits she’d been sitting next to. “Trade off with Barnes so he can work the stove.”

He doesn’t quite frown when he hears his last name on her lips, but it… _troubles_ (yes, that’s the word) him a little to hear it. He wonders why she still calls him ‘Barnes’, had gotten used to hearing her call him ‘James’. (Hell, he thinks he even craves it a little, as if his name on her lips makes him like… like a _real_ person.)

Perhaps she calls him that out of habit? He hopes so. (Because if that’s why, then he hopes to break her out of it.)

“For dessert?” Steve asks, taking the knife when he offers it and pulling the chopping board towards him. He grins a little when he sees Steve sneak a glance at the apron hanging around Darcy’s waist. “What are we having?”

Their girl grins mischievously and pulls out a few bars of chocolate (fuck yes) from amidst the fruits. “Fondue?” she reveals with a knowing, expectant tone, and he gives a bark of laughter before dropping a few kisses on their wily girl’s lips.

“ _Darcy_ ,” Steve groans, but he’s chuckling a little too as he chops the fruits she’d picked out in the pantry into bite-sized cubes.

“You. are. the best!” he tells her over Steve’s whine, already planning on how to make great use of the messy dessert.

“I know,” she agrees, their positive reactions to her food choices making her beam and relax even more.

 _I love you_ nearly escapes him, but he knows she’d return the sentiment and he doesn’t want to rub the words in Steve’s face, not when she can’t say it to him on her own. So he settles for wrapping his right arm around her waist and cuddling her close instead. “You okay?” he mouths to her, careful not to let Steve see the movement of his lips or jaw. She smiles and nods, her body loosening up as she leans into him, and he kisses the top of her head before allowing her to move away, turning back to his task of setting up the stove and dumping the chocolate into a boiler while she tugs on her oven mitts and grabs a meat thermometer.

He’s stirring the melting mixture when she returns, pressing herself against his back and curling her arms around his waist tentatively. Warmth surges through him at her approach, and though he doesn’t pause in his task, he smiles and savors how pleasing it is to have her with him like this. It’s nice and _domestic_ —something he never thought he’d have after the life he’d lived. As far as he can remember, he’d never had this with Steve when they lived in Brooklyn, perhaps because they hadn’t been romantic soulmates back then, and there hadn’t been time for them to indulge in such luxuries during the war, so this is… new.

It’s nice.

So nice that he pouts a little when she pulls away to do the same for Steve, and he consoles himself over the loss of her warmth with the soft and pleased look that overtakes Steve’s expression when she does so.

“Need help?” she asks, peering past his right arm, her eyes gaining an unholy glint as they settle on the strawberries.

“I wouldn’t say no to— Hey!” Steve swats her hand too late when it darts in to steal a bite. “Sneaky little thief.”

“Sorry,” she grins, looking unrepentant. “I just really like strawberries.”

“I know you do,” Steve replies, softening, and he sighs in fond exasperation when Steve holds up a whole strawberry for her to eat, which ends in his lovers making out ( _again_ ) after Darcy licks the juices off Steve’s fingers. The oven’s cheerful ding, announcing the readiness of their meal, is probably the only reason Steve’s hand doesn’t end up back between her legs.

“Back to work,” she murmurs mournfully, giving Steve one last peck before peeling herself away, grabbing the oven mitts as she goes.

Their dinner turns out to be roasted steaks and vegetables, and when she lets him sneak a taste off the vegetable pan, he swears it was done with magic, the vegetables’ individual natural flavors mixing well with the spices she’d used. Darcy flushes at the compliment as she sticks the meat thermometer into the first steak to check its temperature once more, a shy, pleased smile on her face as she tells him to shut up the way she always does when they praise her. He tries not to be so damn pleased that she’s enjoying herself, but Darcy had turned away by then anyway, so it doesn’t matter that he fails in the attempt.

“Just let me prep the plates and then we can eat,” she tells them.

Steve hums and nods. “I’ll go get the beers,” he says, already stalking into the pantry.

“Ooh, beers, good choice,” she agrees, now brandishing a steak knife.

He transfers the chocolate mixture into the large fondue pot Darcy had found somewhere, turning the burner on and activating the mixer to keep the chocolate from hardening. While he cleans the boiler he’d used, Darcy busies herself serving up two steaks each on two separate plates, making it clear that the extra pieces are meant for him and Steve. She then takes the last steak for herself before starting to artfully arrange the vegetables around the steaks the way some restaurants do. He smiles, warmed by the effort, though he doesn’t miss the way she slowly grows tense and stiff once more, her body language telling him of the conflict going on inside her, of her struggle to keep things casual while still trying to ensure that she’s doing everything perfectly.

And, now that he’s noticing it, it’s clear that despite the low-key atmosphere she’s built around them, Darcy _is_ aiming for some kind of picture-perfect dinner date, judging by the way she arranges the food and wipes away the few oil stains that had dripped onto the plate’s sides. On top of that, she’d also obviously spent some time cooking before they arrived, but had left at some point to shower and change, her hair still damp and smelling so nice and her clothes clean and stain-free.

“And you say I should be the chef,” he says with a smile, taking the plate she offers him and comparing the hearty portion she’d given him to the one she’s preparing for Steve. It was, as he’d suspected, equally portioned. “Look at this. If it didn’t smell so good, I’d probably try not to eat it.”

Darcy’s lips twitch upwards, and her shoulders relax ever so slightly. “Oh, I dunno,” she drawls, more confident now. “Pretty sure that stew yesterday’ll be a hard act to follow.” But then her smile turns into a smirk, which tells him she’s got something up her sleeve.

He figures out what it is when he gets a taste of the steak, which is somehow just _amazing_ , the meat soft and succulent and practically melting in his mouth. “Holy cow,” he doesn’t intend to say, but there it goes, sending Darcy into a fit of giggles at his unintentional pun.

Steve, when he takes his own bite, just shuts his eyes and moans, visibly sucking on the piece of meat before starting to chew, and unlike him, his soulmate manages to hang on to his table manners and waits until he swallows the food to say, “Holy _cow_ ,” as well, making Darcy bite down on the laugh that escapes her.

She finishes her meal first, her portions being smaller than his or Steve’s, on top of them trading off telling stories about what their (or rather, _Steve’s_ ) job is besides ‘Avenging’. It’s a good topic to bring up, they realize later, because although this isn’t about childhood tales or personal opinions, Darcy’s background in political science helps her keep up with the discussion. Belatedly, he realizes they’ve never discussed their jobs with her and vice versa, and he’s both glad and sad that this is the first time they’ve ever done so.

It helps that her worries gradually ebb away as the conversation goes on, because the point of _this_ date is for her to see that dating them isn’t going to change what they already have, that it’s just going to add more dimensions to their relationship, and that _that_ won’t be the worst thing in the world. He thinks they’re succeeding fairly well in that regard.

“Oh wow, I think I’m full,” Steve says, patting his still-flat stomach when he’s done eating.

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right,” she replies.

Steve sputters a laugh. “M’serious!” he cries.

“Mm-hm,” she sounds, pulling out her best unimpressed look, but the laughter in her eyes and on her lips negates the effect of it.

“I second that,” he offers, pushing his stained, empty plate away. “I don’t think I can eat another bite.”

“Aw,” she murmurs, pouting. “But the fondue.”

He promptly changes his mind. “I always have room for chocolate,” he declares as he pulls the fondue pot over, making Steve snort and shake his head while smiling fondly at him. He surprises them both when he offers the chocolate-dipped strawberry to Darcy first, but the mood changes swiftly when she takes it, holding his hand between both of hers while licking at his stained fingers and meeting his gaze, and that only solidifies his idea of taking this back to the bedroom, fondue and all.

Before he can suggest it, Steve sets the bar higher by dragging a chocolate-covered apple over Darcy’s lips and down her chin, following the trail he’d left up to her mouth while offering the treat to _him_. “JARVIS, where is everyone else?” Steve asks once he pulls away, licking his chocolate-stained lips.

“Prince Thor and Doctors Foster and Selvig are having dinner on the twenty-fifth floor. All other residents of the tower are currently off-site,” comes the prompt reply. The news surprises both of them, Steve frowning as his eyes fall upon Darcy, who bites down on the smile that curls the corners of her lips upward.

“You planned for us to have sex in here from the get-go, didn’t you?” Steve says slowly in realization.

Darcy flushes guiltily. “I knew everyone else would be out,” she admits. “So I… may have convinced Thor to drag Jane and Erik out to dinner too.”

“And you made the fondue knowing we’d wanna use it on you,” Steve continues, irises thinning as he plucks another strawberry from the bowl. “Bucky can’t resist chocolate _or_ you, so you stacked the deck. Didn’t you?”

“Sorry,” she murmurs not-so-apologetically, her eyes locked on the fruit Steve dips and twirls through the pool of chocolate.

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve rumbles, taking the strawberry out and offering it up to her. “The idea of you masterminding all this is pretty much turning me on right now.”

Darcy looks incredibly pleased at the admission, and she laughs as she bites into the fruit, chasing the liquids that trail down Steve’s fingers in a deliberately lewd fashion that has Steve yanking her in for a heated kiss as soon as she’s licked his hand clean.

(Not surprisingly, things get hot and dirty really fast.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo? How was it? Was it terrible? Oh god, it was, wasn't it? *whimpers* I tried my best. I tried to think positive thoughts. I tried for no more drama. Crap, _should_ there be more drama? I'm good at drama, my sister called me a bully after 'are you the one', so yeah, but I wanted happy things for our OT3. But if drama is what you all want, just tell me and I will do it.
> 
> JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT AND I WILL DO IT~
> 
> Oh, and a belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all! =D


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. In the kitchen. And crying. Sad crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the worst person ever. No wait, it's BRAIN who's the worst. Worst brain ever. T_T
> 
> And I'm sorry it took another two months to get this done. Real life got complicated, and then I got pulled into another story that I'm writing, and then suzukiblu and Rainne and amusewithaview posted stories that were bad influences on me and I wrote another story. Like, seriously brain, how many times can we write about sex without repeating anything?! SO many permutations...
> 
> Okay, enough about that. Sorry again for the wait, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Warnings: see summary. Oh, plus some major insecurity on Darcy's part. I'm not sure how to tag it, because I don't really think there's anything triggery in this chapter. If there is tho, would you guys give a gal a hand and tell me if it is? I'll edit this warning section then. If not, then voila! No triggery triggers =D

There’s always a thrill that goes through him whenever he touches Steve. If he thinks about it, he might assume it stems from either the fact that he  _can_  touch Steve, or because he’s doing it of his own volition. (And hell, it might even be because there are remnants of his upbringing floating around inside him, telling him how improper he’s being for having Steve—his  _male_  soulmate—as his lover, instead of keeping their relationship platonic).

But there’s always something  _extra_  in the sensation whenever he does it where anyone can walk in any time and see him, see him kiss his soulmate or hold his hand or simply be  _touching_  him the way two people in love are wont to do. (Once, some months after he and Steve rekindled their relationship, Pepper had walked in on them necking in the kitchen, and her simple apology—accented by a brilliant, knowing smile that spoke of her quiet acceptance of their relationship—had boosted his respect for her. The fact that someone knew about them had also made him dizzy with the need to do more, to put his mark on Steve and let Steve do the same on him, to have the rest of the world see that Steve is  _his_  and he is Steve’s.)

(And at the time, he may have wanted that news to be made clear to  _someone_  in particular.)

With Darcy though, that something extra has more to it. Unlike Steve, who has never shown shame over their relationship, Darcy insists on keeping their relationship a secret, so the times that he manages to touch her are all precious and addicting. He wants to hook his foot around her ankle and pull her in, to catch her hand and tangle his fingers with hers or bring it up to his lips for a kiss, to say  _fuck it_  and bring her body flush against his and kiss her until she forgets everyone else in the room and kisses him back. Instead, all he has are brief moments that he manages to steal for himself—the unfulfilling sensation of her shoe against his, the brush of his fingers along hers whenever they exchange items, the deliberate little touches to her hand and arm and shoulder and back that he can get away with when no one’s paying attention…

And yet, even those small little things make him feel like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice, just one shove away from doing more with her.

(Exhibit A: The way he’d been so ridiculously turned on when she sat between him and Steve for the first time and let them put their hands on her thighs under the table. Any one of their friends could’ve stood up and seen them at it—hell,  _Foster_  could’ve seen, and it’s ridiculous, the way he’d gotten so hard at the mere idea of her realizing that he and Steve were responsible for the marks she’d seen on Darcy’s body. He’d tried to not let it get to him, but clearly failed at it since he practically attacked Darcy when she walked through their bedroom door, wet t-shirt and all.)

(Exhibit B: The way he’d been half-hard while cooking dinner with her two weeks ago. He’s still surprised that he managed to wait until they got back to the bedroom instead of taking her right there on the counter.)

So when Steve pulls back, and with the invitation to slide between her parted knees made clear by the look she slants his way, he doesn’t hesitate to leap at the chance. Oh sure, he takes his sweet time dragging his fingertips up her knees and thighs, and yeah, the first kiss he gives her is barely even a peck, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going crazy on the inside, his excitement so great, it feels like he’s about to burst open from his neck to the tips of his toes.

The impatient little growl Darcy gives right before she grabs his wrists and pushes up to kiss him aggressively—that just adds fuel to the heat burning within his veins, so much so that he doesn’t even remember why Steve shouldn’t press up against his back and nuzzle that spot behind his ear while they have their hands on Darcy. Pleasure and warmth shoots through him at the stimulation, at the knowledge that he’s tucked right between his two lovers, and it makes him feel like there’s something clicking into place inside him.

“God, I love you both,” he mumbles against Darcy’s lips, the words slipping out before he can restrict it to simple thought. Luckily, neither Steve nor Darcy mind, the both of them giving low, almost identical moans.

“Love you too,” Steve replies, nails scratching lightly at his belly over his shirt, making him clench and go a little breathless as the sensations travel straight to his groin. “Love you both too,  _God_.”

Darcy squeaks and groans, her thighs jerking underneath his hands, and it’s only when he takes a quick peek that he sees Steve’s fingers curled behind her knees, kneading at the sensitive skin there through her jeans. Inspired, he slides his own hands up and pushes his thumbs into the spot he knows her clit is, causing her to suck in a sharp breath as she looks up at him.

“Better?” he asks, suppressing the smug, knowing grin that wants to break out on his face.

“Yeah,” Darcy hums, squirming a little so that she can rub up against his touch, shameless in her desire for more. She makes a sound of protest when he moves his hands higher, but he hushes her with another brief kiss.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he tells her, fiddling with the button of her pants. “Lemme take this off’a ya.”

“Yeah,” she breathes, nodding eagerly. “Yeah, god, I need to be naked right now,” she practically moans, her hands giving his arms a slight tug, as if to say  _Do it, do it already!_

“Jesus, Darcy,” he groans, because it’s fucking appropriate. He’d been thinking of leaving her jeans around her knees, limiting her movement the way she seems to hate and love so much, but also keep her ready to pull her clothes back on in case someone came back early and came to the kitchen. But then he’s suddenly given permission to strip Darcy down  _in the kitchen_ —something that they’ve never done before—and it turns him on so fast, he thinks he should’ve gotten whiplashed somehow. And, going by the sound Steve makes, he’s not the only one who feels dizzy with excitement at the scandalous prospect of her wearing absolutely nothing while they’re outside their bedroom.

“Really?” Steve asks, his hands sliding up higher to the hem of Darcy’s shirt.

“Well, we already did it the other way around,” she reminds Steve, and then freezes and gives him a wary look, clearly worried about his reaction to what she’d just revealed. And, okay, he  _is_  a bit jealous, yes, but now it’s because he wasn’t  _there_  that first time around, not because of anything else.

Not anymore, anyway.

Seeking to reassure her that he doesn’t mind hearing about her and Steve’s past exploits without him, he unsnaps the button between his fingers and asks, “That so?” in his best bedroom voice. It’s easy to use, really, because he’s now picturing his lovers fucking on the counter, their pants pulled down just enough to expose ass and cock and pussy. He’s still not sure if Steve had bent her over or spread her out, or if their shirts had been opened or pushed aside or even left alone, but each option is incredibly appealing.

“Pretty much,” she answers, not even breathing as she stares back at him while he’s tugging her fly down, the zipper sounding loud even over the music that’s still playing in the background.

“Well,” he replies, “now I wanna see what I missed out on.”

Steve gives a low, almost tortured sound and jerks his hips forward, pressing him forward against Darcy. The height of the stool is just right enough that his crotch lines up with hers, and it has him thinking about fucking her on the stool, envisioning the way he’d keep his hands pressed to the small of her back, Steve spreading her legs spread wide for him, and how she’d have to lean back with her hands on the counter just to keep her balance—

“Next time,” Steve’s voice cuts into his brief daydream. “Later. God, I want to watch you two first. Been thinkin’ about this for a while now, the two of you in here while I just sit and watch—”

“Have you?” Darcy asks, immediately interested, and he abruptly recalls—in quick succession— _all_  the times she’d been up for the things he’d suggested simply because he told her Steve had fantasized about it. (Suddenly, he’s very much aware that Darcy had been just as focused as he was on keeping Steve happy Before, and then he’s thinking that if he’s right about what he now suspects, then he and Darcy have  _way_  more in common than just their… Well, actually, now that he’s thinking about that too, they really are so very much alike, aren’t they?)

( _Steve_ , he can’t help but think with some amusement,  _has a type_.)

“What else?” Darcy asks, sliding her hands past his arms and sides so she can pull Steve in closer, and suddenly, he’s even more trapped between his soulmate and lover.

Trapped, but so goddamn pleased to be right where he is now. Which is new.

Tonight, it seems, is a night of many firsts.

“I wanna hear what you want James to do to me,” Darcy continues as she looks over his shoulder at Steve, who makes another small sound and grinds against his ass a little, as if unable to stop from squirming at the combination of her intent stare and low voice. “Am I naked when you think about James fucking me here?” she adds, then tilts her head and kisses  _his_  lips, even though her gaze doesn’t seem to leave Steve’s.

“Now you are,” Steve admits, a tinge of laughter in his tone.

Darcy grins knowingly. “Just me?”

This time, the hurt sound comes from  _his_  throat, because he’s read about that in one of those domination websites, about the power games couples—or threesomes (trios?), in their case—play around with in the bedroom, and he’s got that exact scenario tucked away in his head, ready to be trotted out if they’re looking to spice things up. Well, almost exact, because in his head, it’s  _Steve_  who’s supposed to be stripped naked, because Steve takes orders so,  _so_  well. The thought  _Darcy_  being the only one naked though…

He tries hard to keep in mind that they can’t  _actually_  have sex with her so soon after she ate, never mind that Darcy hadn’t eaten as much as he or Steve had, but that thought isn’t feeling very solid in his mind at all. It keeps getting replaced with the image of him bending her down and making her scream against the counter, or maybe over the stool so she can wrap her plump lips around Steve too—

Cool air washes down his back when Steve suddenly steps sideways, and he pushes down the complaint that rises in his throat at the loss of that warm security. Before he can finish realizing why he’d liked being between them so much, Steve distracting him as he says, “Yeah, I can definitely get behind that,” and pulls Darcy in for another deep kiss. “Now get up so we can take your clothes off,” comes the added instruction.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Darcy says, laughing, and she even manages a cheeky, if sloppy salute while he helps her off the stool.

He gives a startled, slightly annoyed sound when Steve pulls her away, to turn her around abruptly and kiss her, but _then_  he realizes how optimal this position is and, with a little grin spreading across his face, he crouches and tugs her pants down. Darcy helpfully toes her shoes off so he can rid her legs and feet of their coverings, dumping her jeans and red-and-yellow-striped socks onto one of the stools.

The colors surprise him a little, because she usually wears solid-colored (usually black) underwear. Red and yellow, he recalls, used to be her favorite colors, but she’s never worn them like this before. And really, this color-scheme looks pretty familiar…

Ah, yes. He remembers now.

“I would’a pegged’ja as a Hufflepuff, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he trails his hands over the soft, warm flesh of her legs and thinks of slipping his hand past her matching red-and-yellow-striped panties to feel how wet she is. (He doesn’t let loose the comment of her needing extra courage for tonight—saying that may very well lead them down a path she doesn’t want to take.)

(Later though, if she still needs these little signs of courage to do these kinds of things with them, then they _will_ have to talk about this, about how she doesn’t have to do something she doesn’t feel ready to do.)

(God, he hopes she hadn’t felt that way about this date, hopes that it was just nerves, that she wanted this too. He doesn’t want her to think she _has to_.)

( _Never_ that.)

Darcy squeaks and jerks her head down to look for her socks. “Excuse you,” she says, breathlessly indignant. “I’ll have you know that the online Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor!”

“There’s an online Sorting Hat?” Steve asks, his voice full of amused disbelief, like he couldn’t believe they really were talking about this right now.

“There’s an online—oh!” Darcy forward and tilts her hips back as he slides his fingers over her lips up to her clit, and he frowns a little when he finds her less slick than he expected. Darcy has  _always_  been wet for them when they reach for her, and this is… Yeah, this is when he realizes that she really is stressing over this date.

Well, no, not  _realizes_ , but he suddenly recalls how she’d worked to make things as perfect as she can, how worried she’d been before they started eating, and really  _sees_  how anxious she’s feeling over this date. It’s only supporting his fear that she hadn’t wanted to do this date at all.

Maybe— _maybe_ —he shouldn’t have left them alone this morning after all.

Or maybe he’s overthinking this. Maybe she’s not always wet for them after all. Maybe she only gets that way when they’re in their bedroom, or when they’re playing games all day. Maybe this _is_ just nerves. Dear god, please let it be any of those options.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to tread these waters carefully, would it?

“There’s an online everything,” Darcy continues as he resolves to cautiously see if this is just anxiety on her part, and if it is, then he’ll gladly chase those feelings away. Their sweet, precious girl shouldn’t have to worry or doubt what they feel for her, shouldn’t have to stress over dating them. Yes, things most probably  _are_  going to change between them, but not for the worst.

Not if he can help it.

“Like what?” he asks, arranging himself so that he’s kneeling instead of sitting on his heels. If this is anxiety, then he knows just how to make it go away. “Keep talkin’, doll. You know we like it when you get all smart with us.”

And if it’s not anxiety, not nerves, then…

Then they’ll stop this, they’ll talk, and if what Darcy really wants is to go back to what they already had, then he’ll do that and make sure Steve doesn’t try to pressure her into it, the way he nearly had about him being punished for his sins against her. No, it wouldn’t be fair, because they love her and they want the world—or (given the safety issues) at least their immediate friends—to know it, but neither would it be fair to let her do something she doesn’t want to.

He understands all too well what it’s like to be forced into something he doesn’t want to.

Darcy whimpers quietly as he drags the tip of his nose from the exposed swell of her ass down to the middle of her thigh, clearly able to tell what he’s thinking of doing. “Like… Like—” She gasps when he kisses the back of her left knee, then gives a little jerk when he scrapes his teeth over her skin and presses his fingers briefly against the mouth of her pussy.

“Like?” Steve prompts her, and he looks up when the moan she makes is out of sync with what he’s doing to her, though he really can’t see more than her shirt before Steve drops it haphazardly over the rest of her clothes. After though, the view becomes pretty fantastic, and he starts kissing up her flesh in earnest, making his way to the swell of her ass and following when Steve turns so that he’s leaning against the extended edge of the island counter, pulling Darcy along with him.

Truth be told, despite focusing on hearing Darcy and Steve talk, he doesn’t actually  _listen_ , the ensuing conversation merely filed away for later recollection. Instead, he turns his focus towards her tone, towards her body language, towards her reactions to Steve’s gentle murmurs and his light teasing. He relies on his training as an interrogator, needing it to take note of every minute detail he witnesses from her, and within the next few minutes, he finds his earlier fears assuaged, especially when Darcy suddenly laughs, bright and startled and completely at ease, at something at Steve says. She was relaxed, she was happy, and her body chased his touch and steadily grew wetter—a combination that his training declares couldn’t coexist if she was still stressed.

Which leads him to determine that Darcy had been an _anxious_ participant of tonight’s dinner date, not a _reluctant_ one. Darcy must’ve just been worried that something would go wrong in the middle of the date. Maybe she even worried that it wouldn’t have been as good as it turned out to be.

Well, she needn’t have worried. Tonight was a resounding success—something he’d thought possible since that day they all cooked together and proved just how well they worked together, even outside the bedroom—and he hoped she wouldn’t be as nervous when they went for a second date sometime soon.

To celebrate this realization, he starts to target all the places he knows will make Darcy react, the places that will make her spread her legs as wide as she can, the places that have her grinding down and leaking on the hand he keeps pressed to her slowly flowering cunt. She’s rolling her hips constantly too, trying to get at an angle that’ll get his fingers to hit her clit or slip into her, but she only succeeds in copiously lubricating his digits.

“James,” Darcy pants once he’s upright again, her voice wobbling with need as she tiptoes and sinks down and tilts her body in shaking, stuttering motions as he sweeps his tongue between her ass cheeks before sucking at the skin covering her fourth lumbar vertebrae. “James,  _please_.”

“Shh,” Steve tells her calmly, in a tone that suggests he’s completely unaffected by her desperate plight. It’s bullshit, he knows, because if the mere _sound_ of her makes _him_ want to get up and _take_ her, then he _knows_ that Steve’s in the same fucking boat he is. “Don’t hurry, sweetheart. We haven’t even touched the fondue yet.”

The _fondue_. Christ, he’d forgotten all about it.

Then again, his worries had him pretty damn distracted, so how could he have possibly remembered it in light of all his sudden concerns?

“God, forget the fon _due_ , just f _ngk mngh_ —” Darcy’s snarl is muffled and cut off when Steve kisses her, but the long moan she makes when he finally gives in and sinks two fingers into her is unmistakably one of relief. Her hips immediately find a rhythm to move to, her pussy dragging up and down his fingers, and the idea of her just using him to get herself off right here and now is so hot and arousing, he feels dick twitch and start to weep in envy.

“Gonna come for us, doll?” he asks, his voice betraying his desire. Darcy moans in the affirmative and slides a hand down to touch herself, but Steve pulls it away quickly.

“Don’t do that,” his better half murmurs, still kissing her, placing her hand back over his shoulder. “We’ll take care of you, honey. You just let us.”

Darcy jolts backwards and swears quietly. “Honey?” she echoes shakily, her body going still.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, shifting a little. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s… it’s fine,” she mumbles, moaning after Steve’s fingers bump against his knuckles and readjust to find her clit. “I don’t— _mmh_ —I don’t mind at all.”

“But do you  _like_  it?” Steve presses. “I never even asked if you even liked pet names.”

“Is this really—?  _Unh_ … Is this really the time to discuss that?” Darcy whines, clearly being distracted from reaching her orgasm by Steve’s continuing spiel.

“Why not?” Steve asks back, and he can practically hear the grin that accompanies his soulmate’s words.

“ _Steve_ ,” she says, simultaneously pleasured and reprimanding. Steve chuckles and pulls her in for a kiss while doing something that pulls at the lips of her cunt, making Darcy moan and jerk out of her rhythm at the touch. “Steve,  _yes_.”

“Honey,” Steve murmurs. “Baby doll—” Darcy makes a sound at that. “Mm, you like that one, buttercup?” Darcy makes another sound, this one tinged with some irritation.

“Steve, goddamn it, shut  _up_ ,” she says faintly, sounding distracted, and with good reason. Her cunt is flexing around his digits in preparation for her approaching orgasm, and feeling it happening is ridiculously, almost unbearably addicting. His thoughts are filled with ideas—of taking control of her rhythm and  _making_  her come for them, of pulling his zip down and replacing his fingers with his dick so he can feel her come around hi—

“I can’t wait to watch you two,” Steve murmurs, clearly thinking the same thing he’s thinking. Darcy visibly shudders. “Want you all spread out and open and coming for him, sweetheart, and then I’ll bend you over and fuck you like I did the first time we—”

The imagery has him groaning Steve’s name and pressing the heel of his left hand against his dick to ease the near-painful throb that pulses through it, just as Darcy buries her face against Steve’s shoulder with a wail as her pussy starts to clench and throb around his fingers, her hips bucking back and forth to ride out her release. Steve, though not as mouthy as he or Darcy, might just have the most dangerous tongue of them all. Combined with that tactical genius of his and the way he knows how to get into their heads, well, it really is a wonder that  _he’s_  the one who likes being told what to do the most.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbles, his voice finally betraying how aroused he is. “God, I love how gorgeous you look when you’re coming for us.”

“Please,” she moans, and he’s surprised that he’s _still_ surprised that she wants more immediately after. “Please, I need more, I need—”

“I know,” Steve murmurs, sliding his hands down to cup her ass. “I know, sweetheart. We’re gonna take care of you, Darcy. Promise. You just leave it all to us now. We’ve got this. We’ve got you.”

“Yes,” she breathes, going limp against Steve. “Yes, please, Steve, I want that…”

“I know you do,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to her forehead before looking down at him again. “Bucky, get up here and take her—”

“God,” he moans, the words making him press his face to her right ass cheek to steady himself, the urge to take her right there and then nearly impossible to resist.

 _She_ is impossible to resist, and it’s only the fact that she can’t _possibly_ come away unharmed that keeps him from having her over and over, until even _he_ can no longer move.

“James, fuck, please!” she gasps, her voice laced with her lust, and he can’t help but crook his fingers to make her moan and jerk again, still so goddamn awed at how _amazing_ she gets when she’s breaking apart for them.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, getting up and reluctantly sliding his fingers out of her so he can undo his pants. “I gotcha, darlin’, m’right here. Gonna make you feel good again, doll, promise.”

(And he does.)

*

Steve’s suggestion that they stop sleeping with her haunted her all throughout the day, in a way she hadn’t been able to predict when she first heard him say it. It had pulsed through her when she least expected it, pulled from her thoughts when Tony innocuously invited her (well, the astrophysics team, anyway) to eat out with him and the others, Darcy having to decline because of the date she’d scheduled that morning with Steve.

 _Why bother?_  a sardonic little voice asks from somewhere in her head.  _You know it’s only going to end terribly_.

That was the beginning of it, and since then, she hadn’t been able to shake the doubts that came to mind or the nerves that formed knots in her belly and heart and throat.

 _You weren’t meant to hear it_ , it said while she was eating, pointed out how the words were clearly not meant to be heard by her ears, clearly an attempt to cajole James into agreeing so they could present a united front when they told her how things would be from then on. _You’re lucky James likes fucking you too much to stop_.

 _Look at you_ , it whispered when she had caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink while she was washing her hands, preparing to start cooking.  _Blank as the day you were born. They say they want you but where’s your proof?_

Her plan to seduce them in the kitchen had snowballed from there, and her rationality had been overtaken by her need to make things be picture-perfect so she can get what she wants. Which is why what should’ve been a simple Chicken Alfredo had turned into a hearty steak dinner. The idea for a fondue dessert had been a last minute idea, inspired by the box of chocolates she found sitting on one of the pantry shelves.

(She’d also debated wearing the plug to increase her chances of luring them into bed, but couldn’t bring herself to slip it inside her even when she had it lubed up. What if they decided to go with Steve’s idea? She’d look like the cheap whore Barnes thought her to be Before, and what if that’s what convinces him that he was wrong, that he didn’t love her after all, that he’d just been lulled into those feelings because he’s been sleeping with her for so long? Or what if they were okay with having sex with her tonight, but found it weird that she’d worn the plug on their first ever date? She couldn’t even  _predict_  what their reaction to that would be.)

(What if, what if, what if.)

(She may have had a little breakdown in the shower, not that anyone but JARVIS will ever know that.)

Things had gotten easier when Steve and James finally arrived, not that she noticed it at first. She was just so relieved that they showed up at all. That they hadn’t changed their minds and backed out and brought all her worries to life and—

Yeah. That.

It wasn’t until Steve practically  _commanded_  her to be present in their bed later that she felt that thick ball of worry uncoil, and the longer he kept his attention on her, the more she felt as if she was being rewarded for her efforts tonight. She didn’t even realize she’d been looking for their approval until she was already getting it, but that was a relief too.

And when she learned about the surface details for their trips to D.C., the way they seemed to listen to her dissect the politics involved over Steve’s constant summons,  _Christ_ , but it felt  _great_. She’s been on dates with guys that do that before, of course, but those guys only played the gentleman card up until they got her in bed. And once they got what they wanted, they don’t even want to talk to her about those things, preferring to skip straight to sex or agree to stop seeing her entirely when she refused to have a purely sexual relationship with them (as was the case with most of the soulmarked men she had the misfortune of falling for in the past).

Steve and James though, they already _know_ she’s a sure thing, but they listened anyway, as if her opinion really mattered to them.

That swooping feeling in her gut? That was probably what skydivers feel when they get on that plane knowing they would be jumping off of it, their only lifeline being the parachutes on their backs that would, hopefully, bring her back to the ground safe and sound. That’s what it felt like, being on a date with  _two_  people that she really,  _really_  shouldn’t be on a date with. The romance is her plane, the date her fall and they her parachute; only they could bring her back to solid ground now.

And, in bits and pieces and ever so slowly, they do.

The last time she had sex in the kitchen ( _actual_  somewhat-naked kitchen sex, not just some hand-down-panties action) had been the first time she and Steve hooked up. She can’t remember who jumped who (though she’s pretty sure she jumped him, given the givens), but it was Steve who [shocked her when he] pulled her clothes aside, not even bothering to take any of them off her, and bent her over the counter. The resulting escapade had been abrupt and breathtakingly rough, the complete opposite of  _all_  her previous sexual encounters, and one taste had her tumbling down the rabbit hole and waving goodbye to all the ways she used to like sex.

This time is different, not only because James is there, but because this time, there’s no risk of the others stumbling onto them in the middle of things, so things aren’t quite as rushed or rough.

Messy and hot, though, that’s a whole different ballgame.

“Please,” she says before she’s even done calming down. “Please, I need more, I need—”

“I know,” Steve assures her, his hands smoothing down her back to cup her ass. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll take care of you, Darcy. Promise. You just leave it all to us now. We’ve got this. We’ve got you.”

The prospect sounds lovely. She’s been at this the whole day—from herding her favorite nerds to making sure the meat was cooked right to choosing what she should wear. (She’d nearly gone with one of her dresses, for easier access, but wearing one suddenly had so many implications that the idea had almost literally made her sick with fear.) Now that her worries have been assuaged, she’s all too happy to let them do the thinking and worrying for her.

“Yes,” she moans, relaxing against him, her mind suddenly feeling lighter now that she’s putting herself in his hands. Literally, actually. “Yes, please, Steve, I want that…”

“I know you do,” Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead that makes her feel like she’s floating out of her skin. “Bucky, get up here and take her—”

“God,” James murmurs, pushing his face to her skin and nipping at her flesh, but he’s not moving fast enough, not getting up and taking his pants off and—

“James, fuck, please!” she begs, and then moans in surprise when she feels him press up against the spot that has her seeing stars and feeling lightning shoot through her.

“Yeah,” he says breathily, finally rising to his feet, and she whimpers when he pulls his fingers away from her. “I gotcha, darlin’, m’right here. Gonna make you feel good again, doll, promise.”

His words make all the lingering tension melts right off her, assured in the knowledge that she’d be taken care of by  _both_  her boys. And, sure enough, she hears him tug his pants open a moment later, the tip of his cock brushing against her ass once it’s free. Anticipation rings through her at the teasing contact, and Steve, with one last kiss to her lips and her forehead, tips her into James’s arms and slips aside, allowing James to turn her over.

She’s still riding the tail-end of the first orgasm they give her when James picks her up and sets her down on a stool, his big hands moving off her ass and down to her knees. He pulls her legs up, one around his waist and the other over his right arm, and then braces his hand against counter while he reaches around to hold onto the stool to keep it steady. He brushes his lips over hers, says, “Put my cock inside you, sweetheart,” and hell, what else is she supposed to do but obey _that_ command?

Darcy doesn’t play around, doesn’t do anything but take him in hand and press him right against her slick opening, and moans, “Oh yeah,” as he eases in, because  _finally_ , all is right with the _world_. With _her_ world. They didn’t stand her up, didn’t leave, she did everything right and now she’s being _rewarded_. “God, _yes_ ,” she breathes, resting her forehead against his shoulder and look down at where he’s connected to her so intimately, at where he’s sliding more of himself inside her.

“God,” James says in a tight voice, pulling back and easing forward, sinking another few inches into her. “Fuck, Darcy doll, always feel so good ‘round me.”

“ _James_ ,” she pants, her mind focused on nothing but him and what he’s doing. The stretch of her body around his cock feels magical after a day of worrying she wouldn’t get to have this again, and she can’t help but moan and watch him disappear within her completely. It’s such a wonderful sight that she thinks she won’t be able to take her eyes off it again, doesn’t even  _want_  to take her eyes off  _this_  again.

“Are you—? Jesus, Darcy,” he tells her raggedly, thrusting a little deeper, and is she hallucinating or did his cock just  _twitch?_  “Darcy, you can’t— Stop  _lookin’_.”

His words register in her head after a moment, and loathe though she was to do so, Darcy obeys and looks at him instead, an incredulous smile creeping over her face. “Are you  _embarrassed?”_  she asks.

James swallows heavily as he takes her in. “More like  _on the edge_ ,” he says in an uneven tone, pressing his forehead to hers. “An’ watchin’ you watch us ain’t helping.”

 _Oh_ , Darcy thinks, and then she grins wickedly and tilts her chin forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. “But I want you to come inside me,” she murmurs, clenching down on him, and James shudders, fingers flexing over her cheeks. “Come inside me, baby,” she repeats, kissing him again. “Fill me up. Make me walk to bed dripping with come—”

“ _Jesus_ , Darcy,” he gasps, and to her delight, he pull out and thrusts back in, muffling her cry of pleasure with a hard kiss.

“Oh my God,” she hears Steve moan, but she doesn’t focus on him now, her world has narrowing down to the man between her legs—his tongue in her mouth, his shirt-covered chest against her bra-covered breasts, his hands holding her up and his cock giving her pussy those carefully slow, but long and deep strokes that makes her feel every inch of him… It’s consuming, so much so that she forgets everything but him, lets go of every thought in her head but him and how to get more of him.

Everything, including the fact that she needed to hold herself up. She cries out as her back hits the rounded edge of the counter when her elbows slip out to the sides, her haze of pleasure interrupted by the spike of pain.

“Darcy! Are you hurt?” Steve asks, worry threading through his tone. James stops what he’s doing so well and readjusts his grip so that his right hand can cover the aggravated area of her back.

“It’s— It’s fine,” she tells him, whimpering at the pause, at the interruption of their promise. “Don’t stop.”

But he does, much to her frustrated irritation.

“I’m  _fine_ ,” she insists as he sets her down and turns her over to check on her back.  _How_  he can do it is a mystery to her, because they’d  _barely_  started,  _goddamn it_ , and she can see how hard and red and  _wet_  his cock is, pre-come dripping from his slit. She can feel herself dripping too, a line of slick already sliding down her right thigh—

“Indulge us,” Steve tells her, sliding his hand up her back before gently tracing the area she landed on.

“This is gonna bruise, doll,” James murmurs apologetically, as if he’s the one who put it there.

“I don’t  _care_ ,” she groans impatiently. “I  _like_  the bruises, if you’ll remember,” she reminds them. Not that they’ve been leaving any on her since—

“I remember,” James confirms quietly, and then his lips are on her back, kissing the hurt like it’ll go away if he does. She moans at the simple contact, her irritation fading away at the tender act. “I love you,” he says against her skin, and a warm sensation curls around her heart at the words.

“I love you too,” she replies, closing her eyes to savor the sensation of him kissing up her back, over her shoulder blades, and when his lips reach her shoulder, she feels his tip brush up against the lips of her pussy, making her moan. “Oh,” she says, only a little bit surprised when he enters her once more. She’d assumed that they would go back to their earlier position when he was done doing as he wanted, but this is good too—his front pressing flat against her back, pushing her towards the counter as he fills her up once more.

“Elbows back on the counter, darlin’,” he tells her, sliding his right arm over her waist, right where the edge of the counter was digging into her skin. “Bend over for us a little.”

She moans at the reminder that Steve’s watching and turns her head to look at him. Like James, Steve had only opened his pants to free his cock, and her body thrums with a sharp, heated thrill when she sees that. This isn’t the first time she’s been the only one naked in a room with them—it’s happened practically every morning since she started  _sleep_ -sleeping with them—but there’s something  _deeper_  about it now, something that makes her feel not just naked, but  _exposed_. She feels like Eve after that first bite of the forbidden fruit, realizing she was naked and having the sudden urge to cover herself up.

“Oh  _god_ ,” she breathes when James starts to move, her eyes nearly closing until she registers Steve wrapping a hand around himself, and then she focuses on that, on his thumb circling his tip before he starts pumping his fist over the head of his cock. A moment later, she realizes he’s matching his dragging strokes to James’s slow, careful thrusts, and she whimpers and arches her back, wishing her were inside her too. “Steve…”

“Right here, sweetheart,” Steve answers her, his voice low but reassuring. “You look real good like that. Keep your eyes on me, Darcy, don’t look away. Buck, pull her bra down,” he adds, and James lifts off her for a moment to pull her up, his right arm keeping her pressed to him while his left hand yanks the cups of her bra down one at a time, then carefully lowers her back onto the counter, the feel of the cool surface against her bare breasts making her gasp.

“Oh god,” she repeats, the impulse to close her eyes so strong she can barely resist.

“Eyes on me, honey,” Steve reminds her, and the ‘honey’ jolts her again, pulls her attention back to him, and she’s briefly reminded that she never answered his question earlier, about what she’d like to be called.

“I like you calling me ‘honey’,” she tells him breathily.

“Oh God,” Steve groans, lashes fluttering as he slides his hands down, one to the base of his cock to squeeze firmly while the other tugs his balls away from his body, as if the simple discussion of  _what to call her_  was enough to push him towards his orgasm. “Oh God, Darcy, you can’t talk like that, sweetheart, you’ll kill me before I can touch you too.”

The not-so-subtle reminder has her moaning and aching to come, aching to feel James come so that Steve can come fuck her too.

“Mm, yeah, touch me,” she murmurs in agreement, imagining James leaving her right where she is when he’s finished with her, imagines Steve pushing her back down when she tries to get up and sliding his cock into cunt without even let her move or recover, keeping her down and fuck her like it’s her sole purpose in life to be fucked by them—

She comes at the thought, a small orgasm surging forward unexpectedly, and she gasps and moans when James, with a “ _Jesus_ , Darcy,” that she barely hears, grinds up against her for a few moments before tugging her further back and sliding his free hand to her clit.

“Yes,” she exhales loudly when his cool, smooth fingers make contact with her sensitive bud, her release pulsing harder and heavier through her body. Her hips tilt forward instinctively, seeking increase and extend the sensation of her climax, and coincidentally, her movement puts his cock at the  _perfect_  angle, _good-shit-that-right **there** -yesyesyes!_ shooting through her and bright lights exploding behind her eyelids when his next motion drags the head of his cock over that spot inside her. “ _James_ ,” she cries out, helpless to the impulse, her body undulating to eke out as much pleasure as she can while her mind goes on the fritz.

And James, god, but he keeps going, hitting that spot within her and rubbing her clit at the same time, her orgasm building and building and building until she comes  _again_ , waves and waves of pleasure pulsing powerfully through her every nerve, overtaking all her senses.

She doesn’t realize she turns her head to the countertop, stuttering moans escaping her uncontrollably, or that she stops moving, holding still, holding herself in the position that lets James keep rubbing her clit and hitting that spot as he continues to thrust into her, chasing his own climax this time. She doesn’t even notice when he finishes, burying himself deep inside her, his warm release mixing with hers and seeping out to trail down her thighs.

The next thing she knows is that Steve is right beside her, whispering, “Beautiful,” as his lips touch her cheek. “Always so stunning when you come, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t tell him to shut up, too overwhelmed and _happy_ to bother, and she mews when James pulls out, their combined fluids spilling as he turns her over again and gives her a kiss that’s heated and tender at the same time. “You’re okay?” he asks between kisses, his hands taking turns holding her to him and smoothing over her back gently, helping her calm down.

“So okay,” she agrees, feeling herself emerging from that post-coital haze that never really lasts long with just one round, and as if reading her mind, Steve’s fingers slide down her ass and sink into where she’s still swollen and leaking. “Mmh, _Steve_.”

“Tired?” he asks knowingly.

“Not on your life,” she retorts lazily, because like hell was she missing out on having him in the kitchen again.

He chuckles and kisses her shoulder. “Always so eager,  _buttercup_ ,” he murmurs as he sinks another finger in, stretching her wider and causing more of her and James’s come to slip out of her, the sensation so hot and filthy, it makes her moan and want to push her legs together and spread them wider at the same time.

“Don’t— _mmh_ —don’t call me buttercup,” she tells him, tilting her hips so that he has more access to her. She’s a bit tender—she always is after they fuck her—but that’ll go away in a bit, when they’ve got her all revved up and ready again. “Makes me think of a cartoon character.”

“All right,” he agrees easily. “Muffin.”

She finds the will to roll her eyes for that one, but he distracts her before she can knock that off his list too, his thumb swiping over her slick skin before pressing up against her asshole.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, pleasantly surprised. He’s thicker than James and is always worried about hurting her, so Steve doesn’t often initiate anal sex, but when he does… Darcy shivers and pushes back against his hand, encouraging him to proceed.

Steve chuckles, dark and knowing. “Later, honey,” he says, a contrast to the way he’s touching her, circling around the rim of her hole. “Later, I promise, I’ll open you up for me and fill you up here,” he hums, pushing her hair aside and nuzzling his nose and lips against the skin under her ear.

“ _Jesus_ , Steve,” she whimpers, her body going hot in anticipation, already looking forward to it.

“You wanna come again, sweetheart?” Steve asks, lips brushing the shell of her ear, his thumb now resting over her asshole while one long finger suddenly curls into her slick pussy. “Just once more before we move things to the bedroom?”

“You  _know_  I do,” she moans, feeling the slimness of his fingers and finding them absolutely lacking after being stretched up so nicely by James’s cock.

He hums and bends to kiss and nuzzle the side of her neck. “Then come over here and sit down on me.”

The  _voice_  on this man. It’s not even the words, but the  _way_  he says them. The crude suggestion in each innocuous word and the vulgar intonation in each syllable—it all just spills deliciously into her ear and curls into her mind and  _stays there_.

“Christ, Steve,” she murmurs, turning around quickly, and the only reason she doesn’t topple over is because he’s holding her already.

“No,” he says, stopping her when she moves to hook a leg over his hip and turning her around again. “Sit on me,” he repeats, and she gets it then.

“Jesus, Steve,” she and James chorus in pretty much the same stunned, heated tone, and Steve chuckles, sounding pleased with the reaction he got from them.

“Help our girl out, Bucky,” he says, and James swallows and wraps his arms around her, his lips swooping down to kiss her as he lowers her onto Steve’s cock.

“Oh my god,” she moans against his lips as Steve stretches her out, and as always, his wider girth makes her  _feel_  his entry. She thinks she remembers a time when even three fingers were enough to stretch her for him, but ever since she and James started having sex, it’s like Steve suddenly felt so _huge_ , like her body had suddenly shrunken down, or realized that Steve’s cock is indeed far thicker than most. Even now, she can feel it forcing her squeezing muscles to open up wider and accommodate him, to take what he’s giving her.

Darcy tips her head forward with another, wordless moan to _watch_ , and acknowledges that she’s all too _happy_ to take it. To take _him_.

 _Them_.

Neither she nor James expect Steve to pull her down, filling her to the hilt with one tug—a counterpoint to how he usually likes to enter her, even after James has already warmed her up for him. “Steve!” she chokes out, the intrusion sharp and unexpected and oh-so intoxicating, near-similar to the way he used to be so rough with her.

“Okay?” he asks, his hands—one wet from where he’d slipped them into her earlier—sliding up to cup her breasts and flick his thumbs over her hard nipples.

“So, so okay,” she pants, pressing her forehead to James’s as her body adjusts to his invasion of her.

But Steve doesn’t let her adjust, not really. He leans back, pulls her back with him, then moves his hands down to her thighs and pulls them apart, hooking her legs over his spread knees to keep her open. Darcy gasps and flushes hotly at the feeling of being so exposed, and James’s eyes drop straight down to where she and Steve are connected.

“Still okay?” Steve asks, teeth nipping at the shell of her ear.

“I’m not sure,” she says, and he goes still beneath her. “Nothing’s really happening yet, so how can I—?”

He huffs a laugh, clearly relieved, and James gives her a little grin. “All right then,” Steve hums, shifting a little before dropping a hand down to rub her clit. Darcy bites her lip and leans further against his shoulder, inching her hips up to chase his fingers. The motion has his cock sliding in and out of her ever so slightly, and she moans and rocks her hips again, experimenting.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” Steve rumbles warningly, and Darcy whimpers and clutches at the arm over her stomach as she tries hard to hold still, her focus on the fingers that are rubbing her clit faster, giving her more slippery sensations that stoke a bright hot fire in her belly and shallow gasps from her throat.

“God, Darcy, look at you,” James murmurs, his hand sliding up to cup her breast and drag his thumb over her nipple. “You’re perfect, you know. Look real good like this, all spread out on Steve, gettin’ stretched real nice and full.”

She moans and clenches down Steve, who sucks in a sharp breath and thrusts up a little, and she bites her lip and angles herself a little more so he can hit  _there, please Steve, right there, Steve, move please!_ But aside from that first thrust, Steve doesn’t move, seemingly content with toying with her clit until—

“Steve, I want—”

“Yeah,” Steve says roughly. “Yeah, God, Buck, go for it.” She cries out when the hand on her clit slides away, moving up to cup her ignored breast, and the loss of sensation where she needs it the most, coupled with the demand that she shouldn’t move, is near-devastating to her thrumming flesh. “Shh, sweetheart, we got you,” Steve tells her soothingly. “We got you, Darcy, honey, promise.”

“Oh god,” she chokes out when James’s face suddenly comes into view, his fingers dripping warm brown liquid— _chocolate_ , she remembers belatedly—over her belly and down to her clit, rubbing the thick, sweet substance over her hard nub as he leans in and follows the trail. “Oh god,” she repeats, unwittingly holding still, anticipation filling her as she watches his progress. She briefly spares a thought for hygiene, but the chocolate is already being smeared onto her skin, so she just tells herself to wash up as soon as they head up to the bedroom. Her breath catches at the first swipe of his tongue over her clit, but a loud moan soon escapes her when he closes his lips over it and sucks it into his mouth, the pressure incredible and the vibrations of his moan double that. “Oh fuck,” she whimpers, her heavy arms suddenly lifting, her fingers suddenly raking through his hair. “James, fuck.”

Her world goes grey as her focus narrows down to the cock in her cunt and the mouth on her clit and god, but she feels like she wants to stay there forever—

“Yeah, talk to us, honey,” Steve encourages, pressing a kiss to her forehead and trailing a path down to her neck. “Tell us what you’re thinking right now, sweetheart.”

—hell, she thinks she  _can_  stay like this forever, all they have to do is say so and she’ll do it. She’ll do it, she wants to do it, she wants to stay right there and be with them, be good for them, be so good they won’t even think of making her go away, be so—

(She comes with a wail and doesn’t even realize she’ said anything of the sort until Bucky parrots it back to her.)

*

What shames him the most is that what Darcy said—about being good for them so they wouldn’t make her go away—doesn’t even register with him until _after_ , until after he’d chased his own climax and pulled out of her, sated and thrilled and riding a high so powerful, he feels like he’s gotten drunk for the first time since 1943. He’s an embarrassment. Truly.

“Oh my  _god_ ,” she’s saying just as he realizes what he’d heard from her, what she’d said about herself. “ _Jesus_.”

“Back with us, doll?” James asks her gently, kneeling up to kiss her belly, and to Steve’s chagrin, he places a hand over her heated core and slips his thumb between her and him, swirling the digit over her stretched hole.

And really, his soulmate has to stop that, because now that their moment is over, they need to  _talk_. So many things had come up in the last few minutes—things he’s pretty sure she hasn’t realized she’d let out of her head—and he knows they have to talk about it, about her thinking that she needs to be  _good_  and  _perfect_  for them so that they won’t ‘make her go away’.

Which, for him, is just  _ridiculous_.

This morning, while she was in the bathroom, Bucky had made him promise he wouldn’t bring up what they’d talked about last night. Darcy had opened a door that she’s always kept tightly locked before, one she had clearly never shared with anyone but them, and they couldn’t expect her to be suddenly willing to share everything with them just because she’d given them a peek through the metaphorical veil of her past. They needed to move forward first, needed to earn more of her trust and her love, before she could open up to them about the rest of it.

And really, Steve sees Bucky’s point and he agrees with that. He won’t pry about her past, not unless she brings it up intentionally first, but they really,  _really_  need to discuss the part where Darcy thinks she’s expendable in this relationship.

Because she’s  _not_. He  _loves_  her.  _Bucky_  loves her. And he knows she loves them too, because he sees it on her face every time she looks at them. He understands that it’s his fault for leaving her for Bucky, but she is  _not_  a loose end or thread or the third wheel. She’s an equal partner in this— _their_  equal partner—and he isn’t sure how to make her believe that. All he can do right now is remind her of that every time she reverts back to this ‘needs to be perfect for them’ mentality.

Before he can say any of this though, Darcy moans “Yeah,” and relaxes back against him, her hands sliding down to hold him by his wrists. “Mm, Steve, you always know how to get me there.”

“Hey!” his soulmate complains, his expression a borderline pout, and Steve smiles half-heartedly as Darcy giggles and moves one hand to touch Bucky’s hand.

“You helped,” she murmurs, giving him a reassuring pat, and the pout solidifies for a brief instant before resolve replaces it.

“M’gonna make you regret that,” Bucky tells her solemnly, then pulls his thumb away and pops it into his mouth, sucking their combined tastes into his mouth with a small smirk. “Good fondue, Darce.”

Steve chokes on air as Darcy barks out a startled laugh and reaches over to swat their lover.

They clean up after that, Darcy first so she can pull her clothes on without getting them stained (too much, anyway). She makes them wash their hands with soap twice before letting them handle the dishes, then abandons them to it so she can disinfect the places they, ah,  _infected_. Steve finds this unfair, would rather do what she’s doing than do the dishes, but so would Bucky, which Darcy points out wouldn’t be fair to whoever gets stuck doing the dishes with her.

“This way,” she says, “we’re all doing what we don’t wanna do.”

That doesn’t really help, seeing as neither of them want her to do anything she doesn’t want to, but Darcy doesn’t need to be enhanced to be as stubborn as they are, and things have been going so well—minus the part where she thinks she needed to appease them so that they’d  _keep_  her—that Steve decides not to press the issue, especially since he’s trying to find a suitable moment to bring up the issue of her ‘being good for them’.

He doesn’t find it while they’re cleaning up though. Bucky keeps the mood light and easy, and Darcy looks so relaxed and happy that Steve couldn’t bring himself to address what he knows will be a sensitive topic, knowing it has the potential to spoil the good mood she’s in and not wanting her to be sad after all they’ve done so far.

 _Tomorrow_ , he decides. He’ll talk to her about it tomorrow, for sure.

“Ugh, no, don’t,” Darcy says when Bucky tries to wrap his arm around her. “I smell like Lysol.”

“You do,” Bucky agrees, slipping his arm around her waist before she can wave him away. “So what?”

Darcy sighs, but her smile is not-so-secretly pleased about his persistence.

Steve hides his own smile as he packs up the fondue in a microwavable container and hides it on the bottom shelf. He really ought to label it as ‘contaminated’ seeing as how Bucky had stuck his hand into the pot, but even though he could swear he’d seen Bruce, Jane, Erik and Natasha finding a few from the drawer by the pantry, there’s a surprising lack of pens in the kitchen now that he’s looking for them. (JARVIS, when asked, informs him that Bruce had taken the last pen from the drawer just that morning, and would have someone restock their supply.)

Securing the Tupperware, Steve straightens up with a sigh and turns back to his lovers, intending to tell them they can finally head up to bed. The words falter on his tongue, however, when he sees them leaning towards each other for a gentle kiss, Bucky’s left hand supporting her back and pulling her towards him at the same time while his flesh fingers rake through her hair, his thumb moving in circles over the skin behind her ear.

“Tonight was amazin’,” he hears Bucky say quietly. “And I’m not talkin’ about the sex.”

Darcy flushes and turns her head down in obvious bashfulness, though that pleased smile still lingers around her lips. “So the sex needs spicing up, huh?” she jokes, trying to change the subject.

She gasps shallowly when Bucky gently tugs at her hair to tilt her face back up again. “Sweetheart,” he drawls, “you know damn well that the sex has  _never_  needed spicing up.” He moves his thumb and strokes the spot under her jaw that never fails to get Darcy hot for them, and it has Darcy gasping and jerking forward as her knees wobble slightly. “M’never gonna get tired of that,” Bucky murmurs, then looks her right in the eye as he continues to trace circles below her jaw. “M’never gonna get tired of you.”

“James,” she breathes out, moaning, her fingers curling into his sides like she’s trying to hang onto him.

“You don’t hafta be good for us, Darcy,” he continues. “You don’t hafta go above and beyond and plan out the perfect dinner to get us to stay with you.”

Darcy jerks back, her eyes widening in shock and apprehension, and her body language suddenly screams  _run_. Steve feels adrenaline surge through him, ready to chase after her if she does, but Bucky doesn’t let her go, though he does stop the motion of his thumb.

“We weren’t gonna leave if the steak was too dry or the vegetables burned or if we had ice cream for dessert,” Bucky tells her softly. “We love that you put in the effort, sweetheart, we really do, but it’s not the date we want, doll, it’s  _you_. And the only way you’ll ever,  _ever_  be rid of us,” he adds with a tone of finality, “is if you  _make_  us leave you.”

Darcy takes a sharp breath, eyes watering and teeth biting at the inside of her lips and cheek. “Well, that’s not ever gonna happen,” she says, aiming for casual and landing on tears and a sniffle.

Bucky makes a noise of comfort and pulls her into his arms, and Darcy starts to cry. Steve had  _definitely_  not seen this coming tonight.

At Bucky’s look of ‘what are you waiting for, get over here!’, Steve envelops them both, hugging Darcy from behind and pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “Bucky’s right,” he tells her quietly. “Maybe I’ll find more to say later, stuff that he hasn’t already said, but for now, what he just told you, that’s what’s important. You’ve got us, Darce. You’ve got us, and we’re not going anywhere. I… I promise,” he adds, tears stinging his eyes and thickening his voice, “ _I’m_  not going anywhere. Please— please believe that.”

Darcy doesn’t say anything to what he said, and it takes her a while to stop crying, stuttering a little as she tries to speak, but seemingly fails to find the words to say. But when the worst of her sobs die down, she turns around and hugs him, and Steve feels that ball of worry inside him relax a little.

“I believe you,” she says once her hiccups have stopped too, leaving only her wet sniffles to tug at his heart. “But I… I just can’t say it, Steve, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

It takes him a few moments to understand what she means, but when it finally sinks in, he feels even more terrible than he already did. “Darcy, no,” he protests, pulling back to look her in the eye. “I’m not saying these things because I want you to love me, or _say_ that you love me. I’m saying them because I mean them, and I want you to  _know_  that I mean them. That’s it. This isn’t… It’s not about reciprocation—”

“No, I know, I know,” she cuts him off, realization flashing over her face too. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.” She pulls away then, wiping her hands over her face in rough irritation. “God, I’m screwing this up. Ugh!”

Steve takes hold of her wrists to stop her from being so hard on her skin, wishes the act would stop her from being so hard on herself too, but he knows that’s a long shot right now, can tell from the agitation lining her body.

“You’re not,” he tells her, pulling her hands to so he can kiss her knuckles, then releasing her wrists so he can cup her face and wipe the wetness from her cheeks. “You’re not screwing anything up. This is… This is good too. We’re clearing the air, right? That’s good, okay? It’ll be good for us. All of us.”

Darcy sniffles. “I just meant… I believe you,” she says, and he smiles, relieved to hear it, even though part of him still feels like he needs to  _prove_  it. “I just— I  _try_  to say it, but it won’t come out, and I want to, Steve. I want to tell you how much—” Her words stop, her mouth working open and shut, but her throat seemingly unable to finish the sentence.

Suddenly, Steve realizes that the sounds she’d been making earlier, that was her trying to tell him she loves him.

“Darcy,” he breathes, pulling her in again. “It’s fine,” he tells her, feeling elated.

She’s  _trying_  to tell him she loves him.

It’s enough. More than.

“It’s fine,” he repeats. “I know. Okay? I know you do. Don’t force it. You don’t have to force it. I already know, sweetheart.”

She starts crying again, but her arms hold him tight, her fingers fisting his shirt, and it feels like she’s more relieved than sad.

Bucky moves suddenly, catching Steve’s attention, and he looks up to find his soulmate wearing a proud, if watery smile as he watches them. The little nod of approval from him makes Steve feel reassured, like he’s been guaranteed that he hadn’t screwed anything up this time.

Thank God.

“Pardon me,” JARVIS suddenly speaks up, making the three of them startle. “But Prince Thor and Doctors Foster and Selvig are on their way up. Prince Thor has very loudly stated their intentions of leaving their leftovers in the refrigerator. I believe he wished for me to provide you with ample warning.”

Darcy giggles and pulls back, wiping away the fresh trail of tears from her face. “Right, thanks, J.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Lewis.”

“Come on,” Steve tells her, holding his hand out. “We can take the stairs if you want.”

“Yeah,” Darcy nods, taking his hand and lacing her fingers with his. “Good idea.”

(Yeah, he totally smiles like a sap all the way up to the bedroom.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do emotions well (my exes and my own family will back me up on that), so I hope this was okay? A good stepping stone to Darcy and Steve having a healthy, open relationship? I had to read like, so many stories before I wrote the last bit down, just to get the tone of it right, and I think it flows well. But um, biased opinions and all, so yeah.
> 
> And tbh, I didn't set out to fill this chapter with sex. Honest. I was actually gonna skip the whole sex bit altogether and just write the aftermath and how our ot3's relationship has improved because of their date. But then someone asked for the fondue and the sex and I thought, 'okay, I'll try writing that first.' And then, when I did the obligatory reread-before-posting thing, I realized the fondue didn't even make it into the chapter. *facepalms*
> 
> Of course, the feels stepped in when I looked it all over again, which is also another factor for this chapter's tardiness. Bucky's part was shockingly easy, but Darcy's and Steve's were all 'angst-angst-angst', so I had to adjust them a little because if I didn't, the sex would've been written out entirely and everything would just devolve again and that whole sharing thing at the bottom wouldn't have made the cut because maybe, possibly, they would've broken up, I think.
> 
> See, it's like my brain can only write sex or angst, idk why but ugh, romance is so hard T_T
> 
> Anyway, tell me how I did =D


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky wax poetic about how great things have been going, and Darcy does too, though she is, of course, overthinking things a lot. Steve also experiences a bout of doubt, Bucky doesn't, and Darcy... well, she has lots of doubts too.
> 
> Oh, and sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I'M ALIVE! _So_ sorry that I haven't updated for so long. It's been a hectic couple of months. Real life beckoned and held me hostage, and when I finally got around to writing, I had an ugly case of writer's block _and_ I couldn't make up my mind about Darcy's last POV section. I have so many 'deleted scenes' set aside in case I need them in the future, but hell if I know when I'll use them.
> 
>  _Anyway_ , this chapter contains a wild roller coaster ride of good vibes, sex and angst.
> 
> WARNINGS: fade-to-black sex scenes (sorry, idk what's wrong with me, will try for a complete scene next chapter), references to shitty past relationships (in which the men are selfish little shits in bed), guilt over lots of things regarding Bucky and Darcy on Steve's part, Bucky's rather negative opinion about violence in video games, and Darcy's flagging self-esteem issues brought on by her inability to tell Steve those three little words made up of eight letters.
> 
> Wow, that's practically the summary. Okay, so, have at it, and tell me how I did, and if I missed anything trigger-y that should be up here. Thank you!

Despite what he’s made Bucky believe, it’s not really his bladder that wakes him up in the middle of the night. Sure, he’ll go pee, but his nightly habit only started after Bucky came back—or rather, after Bucky finally trusted them to watch his back while he rested and they discovered that he would have frighteningly violent nightmares that wouldn’t stop until he woke. And it goes without saying, of course, that waking him up while he’s in the throes of a nightmare was a Bad Idea.

It took them a few days to figure out when Bucky was likely to fall into a nightmare, but once they had it, Natasha advised Steve to get into the habit of going to the bathroom just a few minutes before they hit. Apparently, Clint had done the same thing for her during the first few years following her defection to S.H.I.E.L.D., and it had helped her immensely. So Steve, thinking he had nothing to lose by trying, took her advice.

And, thankfully, it _worked_. Whenever Steve got up, Bucky would awaken from what would’ve been called a dead sleep (had it been anyone else doing it), with nary a nightmare tainting his rest. He’d always been a light sleeper, Bucky, even before, but now, the simple act of someone else getting up or moving around the room or starting at him too long is enough to rouse him. (Steve is only half-glad to know that his ability to snap into instant alertness—to scan his surroundings with a quick sweep—was something Bucky had taught himself during the war, and not something HYDRA had forced onto him as well.)

(He knows HYDRA must have reinforced it though, must have tested him for days, picking out Bucky’s best features and stomping down on the ones they didn’t want, teaching him things they thought he’d need as their assassin and weeding out the other habits they deemed unimportant to their cause.)

(He never knew it was possible to have so much hate in his heart, but the mere thought of _them_ has his guts twisting, has his chest tightening, his jaw and fists clenching and his blood boiling in his veins. All he needs is a haze of red and a flag waved in his face, and he’ll go charging like a bull to a matador, ready to wreck everything that stands under HYDRA’s banner.)

Of course, they didn’t _always_ manage to prevent them from coming—sometimes Steve would wake just as a nightmare hits, and sometimes he wakes up to shouting and flailing limbs. Once, he woke up with a metal hand crushing his windpipe, but JARVIS triggered the EMP neither of them had known was there, deactivating the arm and allowing Steve to gain the upper hand. (One punch to the head is all it took, and when his mind cleared, Bucky had nearly packed up and runaway then and there. To his shame, Steve had resorted to the worst threat he could’ve leveled against his already guilt-ridden beloved, just so that the other half of his soul wouldn’t leave him again.)

(He’d apologized since then, of course—they both had—but… well, Steve’s never been good at ridding himself of his own guilt.)

Most of the time though, the routine was effective, and things have only gotten better since Darcy started spending the night with them. Nowadays, Steve thinks that maybe he doesn’t need to get up in the middle of the night anymore, but this is one habit that’s turning out to be surprisingly hard to break.

Tonight, Steve wakes up and discovers a problem: on his left is Bucky, his head on Steve’s left shoulder, metal arm stretched across Steve’s belly so that he can touch Darcy too, left leg practically wrapped around Steve’s thigh, knee pressed right under Steve’s balls. And on his right is Darcy, mirroring Bucky’s position almost exactly, except that her right thigh is _on_ his balls, practically ensuring that Steve cannot move without waking them. It’s been a while since he was in the middle of the bed, but last night had been…

Well, _mind-blowing_. There really was no other word for it. Having spent so long focusing on making Darcy feel less like the third wheel in their relationship and more like the equal they consider her to be, Steve had nearly forgotten what it was like to be the center of their attention, and last night had been a stunning reminder of why he enjoyed it so much.

And he’s content to be there, perfectly happy to be stuck between them, his lovers snoring lightly, their warm breaths blowing across his bare chest…

God, _why_ did his bladder choose tonight, of all nights, to feel so damn full to bursting!

Considering Bucky’s nature, extricating himself from between his lovers _without_ waking either of them is a task doomed to fail, so, resigning himself to the abandonment of his position, he simply sighs and nuzzles the top of Bucky’s head, which is enough to rouse his soulmate. “Bathroom?” Bucky asks once he’s scanned the room and relaxed once more, and Steve hums a confirmation. When his soulmate moves away, he carefully rolls Darcy onto her back, kissing her temple as he goes over her, and she grumbles in her sleep and rolls back over as soon as she can, settling down as Bucky tugs her close.

Steve shakes his head when he sees the dopey grin on his face through the mirror.

The last few days have been, in his opinion, pretty damn amazing. Having talked it over, he’d decided to cut back on the ‘meetings’ in D.C. once he and Bucky signed the revised contracts, which will protect them from most legal actions levied against them by or on behalf of the military and the American government. (And if the contracts should be ignored anyway, well, theoretically, it would be easy to counteract such a thing by generating enough noise towards the public.)

(There _are_ perks to being the most famous World War Two veteran in American history.)

Freed from the necessity of answering the summons of the United States Army, Steve and Bucky have more time to focus on their relationship with Darcy.

And so far, it’s been _great_.

Okay, granted, the impregnable wall holding her back didn’t suddenly break open. Darcy didn’t change her mind or open up to them overnight, and now that he thinks about it, Steve is glad she hadn’t. It would feel too much like coercion, like they’d strong-armed her into doing this just to please them, and that’s the last thing he wants to do, especially after the whole ‘keep me, I’ll be good for you’ issue that came up during their date.

He’s already screwed up so badly with her, and he doesn’t _ever_ want to do it again.

She’s still a little recalcitrant with them, still antsy and unsettled by the change in their relationship, but to his relief and delight though, she _has_ started to share a little bit more of her past with them, and he and Bucky have learned more about her childhood adventures in the last few days than they have over the past four months. She’s told them about how life on an animal farm went about, and how she’d nearly joined the ‘family business’ of animal husbandry. She didn’t explicitly say it, but he gets enough clues from her stories that he’s often reminded that her father had been a scientist (a botanist, thus the farm they lived on, Darcy had revealed on Day 4, post-date) and he only knows that part already because he had read her file.

(Sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t done that—read her file, he means—because he honestly wants to learn these things _from_ her. And then he remembers that if he hadn’t, he might not have known about the phobias and PTSD triggers she’d developed during her time as HYDRA’s captive, and he can’t bring himself to regret his invasion of her privacy, not when it means he can look out for her and help her out when she falls into a panic attack unexpectedly.)

(Nothing about her past romances though, which is a shame, because Steve gets the feeling that her belief that they’d drop her at the slightest hint of a screw up on her part has something to do with her previous relationships. It doesn’t sit right with him, the idea that the other men she dated left her feeling insecure about herself simply because she was unmarked. Neither he nor Bucky would leave her for not being marked or ‘good enough’, and he wishes he knows if and which of her exes had caused her to think that way. He’d very much like to have a long talk with that person about how they shouldn’t have done such a thing, to _any_ woman.)

But what really gives him hope for their future together is how Darcy has started to tentatively reach out to touch them too, even when they aren’t in the privacy of their bedroom. He’s always been a visual person, even before the serum changed him, and the physical representation of her opening up makes it all feel even more real for him. It takes everything in him to keep his replying touch simple, instead of tugging her close and sinking his fingers through her lush hair while he kisses her on the spot, right there for everyone to see.

And yesterday, Darcy had finally stopped going rigid when they touched her, and Bucky told him she even snuck a kiss to Bucky’s cheek when no one but Thor could see her do it. It’s progress, it’s _so much progress_ , that Steve swears that all he needs is pixie dust to start floating off the floor—that’s how happy he feels. Even now, tucked away in his bathroom, he wants so badly to shout it out, so damn proud and glad and grateful that this wonderful, brave, beautiful woman is finally giving him—them—the chance to explore a _real_ romantic relationship with her.

To be honest, he hadn’t thought he’d ever get here when they first started out. When he started pulling at her clothes in the kitchen the night they first met, he’d told himself it wouldn’t last, that it would be just the one night and that he wouldn’t let it cloud whatever relationship they might build when the morning light washed over them. But then he’d found out what happened to her, seen _Bucky_ in her, Bucky _after_ he was rescued from Azzano, and he found himself visiting her again in the dead of night, needing to see the girl who suddenly, _suddenly_ reminded him so much of his soulmate.

He’s ashamed of that, ashamed that his first real interest in her had been because she reminded him of his lost love, ashamed that he had, for quite some time, used her as a replacement for the man who’d rejected him. But he’s even more ashamed of the fact that he’d thoughtlessly dropped her, like a goddamn hot potato, when his soulmate walked back into his life and practically begged for his forgiveness, for a second chance, as if Steve could ever think of _not_ giving it to him.

Ironically, if someone ever gave him the chance, he’d gladly go back in time to fix that, to be there for Bucky and be there for Darcy too. Unfortunately, the only way to travel through time is, apparently, by getting shot up with Dr. Erskine’s super-soldier serum and being frozen in ice, and even then, one can only ‘time-travel’ to the future.

So, rather than linger on how he can do nothing to change their past, he tries instead to make sure to never make the same mistakes again.

“You okay?” Bucky asks when he exits the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, not entirely surprised that Bucky had caught the melancholy he’s fighting back. “Just… thinking.”

“Well, don’t,” his other half says, his lips curling up in a small smile. “You thinkin’ means I gotta watch out for trouble.”

“Oh, shut up,” he pretends to grumble, climbing in on Darcy’s empty side.

Chuckling, Bucky reaches out to trace silver fingers over his arm, then tugs his hand across the expanse of Darcy’s back to give his knuckles a quick kiss. Steve feels his heart leap to his throat, his smile softening in the face of such a sweet, unexpected gesture. “Go back to sleep, punk,” Bucky tells him, his voice unmistakably fond and tender.

Steve grins at the role reversal. “After you,” he replies cheekily, and that earns him that cocky little grin that only enhances how ridiculously good-looking his soulmate is.

(Of course, he still manages to nod off before Bucky does.)

*

He doesn’t go back to sleep, not like Steve, and just like every morning for the past week, he lies there for hours, alternating between watching his lovers and dropping kisses upon every inch of their girl he can reach, all while relishing the feeling of being just _warm_ and _happy_.

Because against all odds, despite all the issues they’re each facing, both alone _and_ together, things between him, Steve and Darcy have been going really well so far. Darcy has started sitting beside them during dinner with the team, even daring to play footsie with him (and Steve too, he suspects) while she’s at it. She’s also slowly becoming openly affectionate, starts initiating contact where anyone can see her do it. She has touched his arm and his shoulder while Foster was looking, and once dared to kiss his cheek while Foster and Selvig _weren’t_ looking, but could’ve turned around to see it at any time. (Thor, on the other hand, _had_ been watching, and the realization that he’d seen it happen was enough to send his blood rocketing straight to his dick.)

(He thinks he might’ve just discovered he has an exhibitionist kink of some degree—something he probably should’ve realized a long time ago, seeing as how he enjoys it when people witness him being affectionate with Steve. He suspects he might get a bit worse at it if, and hopefully _when_ , Darcy finally _lets_ them announce their relationship to their housemates, as he had done with Steve.)

(Still does, really, but only when Darcy isn’t there. The last thing he wants is to incite jealousy or resentment in her.)

On top of that, she starts telling them more about herself too. Granted, it’s more about her likes and dislikes, but sometimes she’ll dig into her past a little and mention her mother and father when they’re relevant to the story—which they are, more often than not.

He’s thrilled, of course. She’s still holding back, still keeping things from them, but short of holding their hands and kissing them outright, Darcy is slowly letting her walls down, letting them in, and to be honest, it’s one of the best feelings he’s ever felt. He hadn’t known how exhilarating it would be to watch her let herself trust them, to see her putting her faith in them. It’s almost like the time he joined the Avengers on that mission—the camaraderie, the open acceptance they suddenly had in him once he’d proven he could be trusted to watch their backs… it had, without question, been a balm to his soul.

But this time, it’s _better_ , because it’s _Darcy_ , and it’s intoxicating, _she’s_ intoxicating.

His and Steve’s relationship with Darcy is progressing in leaps and bounds and he wants _more_.

He doesn’t press her for it though. If he’s honest, he’ll admit that he’s scared to. What if he asks for something she isn’t ready for, and she backslides into the non-affectionate state they’d lingered in for so long? He doesn’t think he can forgive himself for causing that.

He loves her, loves Darcy Lewis, loves this modern-day woman who somehow broke through all his defenses and wiggled her way into his heart. No one will ever see it as plainly as the mark on his chest, but he and Darcy share a bond just as deep as he and Steve do. They had both been damaged, both been hurt, and they helped to heal each other. She holds a piece of him in her hands, and he knows he holds a piece of her too.

He loves her, he loves Darcy Lewis and he can’t not have her, can’t not touch her, can’t not kiss her and can’t not be in love with her.

Not anymore.

Steve wakes up again at six, his internal clock still set to their old morning routine, and he wiggles closer to Darcy, effectively trapping her between them. “G’mornin’,” Steve murmurs thickly, pressing a kiss to Darcy’s shoulder.

“G’mornin’,” he returns quietly, torn between rolling his eyes and grinning like a loon when Steve kisses his bicep too.

“Are we running today?” Steve asks, sounding more awake this time.

“…maybe in a little bit,” he replies indecisively, because on one hand, he rather likes having a routine to follow, and it had definitely been a big help to him back when he had nightmares every time he tried to rest. But he also doesn’t want to think about leaving the bed while he’s feeling so nice and float-y with contentment, not to mention the fact that right here, right now, he doesn’t have to worry about anything, _particularly_ since Darcy and Steve are safe and sound in bed with him.

“M’kay,” Steve agrees, starting to trail kisses up Darcy’s neck, his hand tracing up her arm and down her waist before sliding over the swell of her ass to stroke the underside of her thigh.

He nearly rolls his eyes, because Steve has been incorrigible and too easily turned on since their date. Then again, so has Darcy, and he can’t claim to be much different either. It’s like the date had been a tankful of gas that was dumped on the fire that is their relationship, and now everything just keeps burning and burning with no end in sight.

And it’s not just lust either. It’s… it’s a want, yes, and a desire, yes, but not just for sex. It’s all of this, all they’ve been doing, the talking and the public touching and the poorly-hidden delight on Darcy’s face when she sees them walk into the room.

(It’s the sex too though. The sex is _fantastic_.)

He lets Steve be responsible for waking her up, and then leans in to give her lips a quick peck. He would give her a deeper kiss, but Darcy has a thing about morning breath (hers, she had needlessly assured him, and though they fought to assure _her_ that they didn’t mind, they eventually— _somehow_ —lost the battle because Darcy can fight just as dirty as he and Steve do), so unless they successfully distract her with sex (what else?), her first order of business will be to brush her teeth and use the toilet (at the same time, according to what he’s heard through the walls and closed door), then come back to bed to wait for them to return from their morning run. He likes knowing that about her, because it reminds him that even if he doesn’t know much about her past, he knows enough about who and how she is now.

“Mornin’, doll,” he murmurs, kissing the tip of her nose when she moves her mouth away from his.

“Mm, good morning,” she replies, ducking her head to kiss his chin as she speaks.

“What about me?” Steve asks, guiding her face in his direction to steal a kiss too, and he turns his head to the skin that’s suddenly available to him, trailing his lips down her neck and humming against the sleep-warm flesh he finds.

“No. No, wait,” she moans, and they barely manage to hold back their groans of disappointment. “Bathroom,” she says unnecessarily, and hurries into the other room.

“You again,” he sighs in mock exasperation, and Steve snorts and reaches out for him.

“You love me,” Steve tells him frankly, shifting to straddle him, those big hands smoothing down his chest. “Admit it.”

He is tempted to deny it, but he remembers (rather unfairly, because it’s not entirely Darcy’s fault, is it? He and Steve had a hand in that too) that he’s the only one capable of saying it to Steve. So how can he not comply with that one simple request?

“I do,” he sighs, slipping his hands over Steve’s thighs until he’s got Steve’s cock in both hands, until Steve’s skin has gone flush and those blue eyes have dilated with the knowledge of his intentions. “I love you, Steve. Gonna love you forever.”

“Buck,” Steve says, strangled, caught between the sentiment of his declaration and the way he tightens his grip on his soulmate’s dick.

“Our girl, she loves you too, okay?” he adds, unable to resist the need to reassure his better half of this fact. “No doubt about it. The way she looks at you… it’s like no one else exists for her, no one else but you. I get so jealous sometimes.”

“She looks at you like that too,” Steve replies, breath hitching and hips bucking when he feels the firm circles being drawn over the underside of his prick. “God, I— I get jealous too.”

“M’sure she feels the same, when we’re the ones sharin’ that look,” he murmurs, a little sad at the thought. “It happens though. The jealousy. It happens. We just gotta remember, that’s not the whole story.”

“I know,” Steve nods, hands sliding up to cup his face. “I know, Buck. Thank you. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he repeats, turning his head to kiss one of the hands bracketing his cheeks. “Now grab the lube for me,” he adds, and Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, but also nearly tips over in his rush to swipe the bottle from the nightstand. “No, no, give it to me,” he tells Steve, who had popped the top as soon as it was in hand. Once he’s got it, he drizzles a small amount out over Steve’s tip. “There,” he hums, capping the bottle again and setting it aside, “just enough to make you all wet for me.”

“Jesus, Buck, don’t—” Steve huffs, flushing, but forgets to protest further as he fists Steve’s length, pumping steadily. “Oh god.”

“Yeah,” he grins up at his soulmate smugly. “That’s right, big boy.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve grumbles, but his hips start rocking up too, which destroys the credibility of his complaint.

He does his best not to laugh. “Yeah, fuck my hand, just like that, Steve, that’s good, honey pie,” he croons, then makes his better half yelp by groping his firm bottom.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve gripes, but doesn’t stop moving. His lover’s panting by the time their girl comes out, and he sees her pause and basically swoon as she sees them, her eyes going wide, mouth dropping open a little.

Suddenly, he wants to make this look _good_ for her, wants to put on a show, the way they used to do for Steve.

“Lean back,” he urges, “hands on the bed.” Steve groans softly and obeys, and Darcy bites her lip, her eyes roving over what she can see of Steve. “C’mere, doll,” he tells her, and Steve shudders and looks over just as she pushes off the doorway and hurries back to bed.

“Sweetheart,” Steve groans, reaching for her, and Darcy goes willingly when he pulls her into a kiss.

“Darcy,” he says, struck by a really, really good idea. “Sit on my face, darlin’, c’mere.”

Darcy huffs a slight laugh as she pulls back from Steve to look down at him. “You sure?” she asks. “I was just thinking about doing to you what you’re doing to Steve.”

“…okay, that’s a really good idea too,” he admits, but catches her knee with his free hand before she can do more than shift her stance. “No, no, come _here_. Seriously,” he insists, and guides her over him, giving her a little smack on the ass when she tries to sit facing Steve, and then using the thick, blunt fingertips of his left hand to part her labia and expose her slowly-swelling clit once he’s got her in place. “Steve gets to move,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue over her briefly, just to test her out and see if she’ll squirm. She does. “But you, you just hold still for me. Understand?”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” she very clearly sasses him, and he moves his hand back so he can reach her ass and give it another light spank.

“Behave, or I’ll put you over my knee.”

“Oh, well if that’s the case,” she laughs, wiggling again, and he grins devilishly as he thinks of a solution that will match the clear challenge she’s presenting.

“Steve,” he says, and relishes the way Darcy goes still above him before her cunt visibly clenches, clit jumping at the motion. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, and Steve outright chuckles at her reaction.

(Suffice to say, Darcy loses the ‘battle’ she’d started, but honestly, there can only be winners in the games they love to play.)

*

‘ _They’re like alarm clocks_ ,’ was Darcy’s first thought when she woke up to Steve kissing her shoulder and pressing light, teasing circles just under her clit, and the reason for her rather uncharitable thought comes back to her as soon as she’s escaped to the bathroom and has parked her butt on the toilet. The reason being the fact that she’s been waking up like that since the first time she slept the night away in their bed.

And, wow, okay, it sounds like she’s complaining, doesn’t it? She’s not, at _all_ , because why yes, she _has_ turned into a bit of a nymphomaniac since she met one Steve Rogers. In fact, the only reason she can even remember why sex wasn’t a thing she used to enjoy was because all her exes—and she does mean _all_ her exes—had never been as generous as Steve or James, and so couldn’t _possibly_ compare to her latest… boyfriends? (…yeah, no. Never mind that the label puts a smile on her face; Darcy shouldn’t count her chickens before they hatch, and putting an official label on their relationship is doing just that.)

Lovers? (Yeah. They’re definitely that.)

So yeah. That.

It’s just…

Today marks the twenty-fourth morning of her waking up in their room—in their _bed_ —and the part of her that’s keeping track of the days is also waiting for the other shoe to drop. She doesn’t like to think about it, about how she wants to trust this relationship thing, because the truth is…

The truth is that she doesn’t.

Trust it, she means.

It’s horrible, she knows that, and she’s been trying to sort herself out ever since that little slip she made on their first official date, trying to start believing that everything might just turn out okay. But it’s a hard thing to do considering how _she_ had handled her past relationships, dropping everything cold turkey when her exes found their soulmates or running at the first sign of a fight between them. See, she doesn’t exactly have a stellar record when it comes to romance, from her first boyfriend (who’d dumped her as soon as he discovered his soulmate was _her_ _own fucking cousin)_ to Ian (the duplicitous _fucker_ for whom she’d done a lot of things she isn’t proud of, just because she’d been so desperate for him to stay with her), and even her thing with Steve, when it ended, had ended up reminded her of why she’d sworn off relationships in the first place.

Needless to say, her horrible experiences have left their mark on her, and she’s come to have little regard for romance. Honestly, things had been less stressful when she thought they thought of her as their sex buddy (even though she already knew they thought more of her than just someone they could fuck) so it’s no surprise that every time she _does_ think about it, she ends up wondering why she’s even giving Steve and James this chance. It’ll be twice the heartache if and when they end things with her, and when _that_ happens, she’ll not only lose them, but also the safety that the tower provides, because it’s not like she’ll want to stay (or maybe even be _allowed_ to stay) here, will she?

She’d learned _that_ lesson with her ‘breakup’ with Steve, and it had hurt too much when she had to see him with James. What more now, when she’s in love with both of them?

 _But the thing is_ , she thinks as she spits out the toothpaste and rinses her mouth out. But the thing is, once she decided to ignore how uncomfortable the whole ‘sharing her life’s story’ part makes her and how horrible it is trying to learn what went on in a normal, healthy romantic relationship, she actually found the whole relationship thing to be pretty nice. She likes the easy way they seem to fit her into place with them, likes how they honestly don’t expect her to just open up to them despite their clear desire to know more about her, and also how they seem so willing to let everyone else know they like her. And for all that she was against it, the complete delight and pride that appears on their faces when she reciprocates their subtle affections in public makes her feel like she’s doing _something_ right.

And on top of all that, she also can’t deny how _nice_ this is. Until Steve— no, until Steve _and_ James, she’d forgotten how it felt to wake up being cuddled by a warm body (two now), and she had definitely never been treated like _this_ , like she was someone to be _made love to_ instead of just roused for an urgent fucking. Her heart skips a beat—figuratively _and_ literally—whenever she lays eyes on them, her body _yearns_ for their touch and her mind constantly fantasizes about not just sex, but about having an actual relationship with them.

God, it’s _ridiculous_ , honestly, but fuck if she can stop herself from feeling like a teenager with an epic crush.

And the fact that they reciprocate her attraction? That just makes it _worse_ , makes her feel like it’s going to be _worth_ the heartache that’s heading her way, even though experience has told her otherwise. And it doesn’t help that it’s starting to occur to her that they, of all the lovers she’d had, were possibly the only ones to want her for more than her body. Ever since they started having private dinners, they’ve been trying to learn more about her past, and always seem genuinely interested in hearing what she has to say. None of her exes had ever been like that, had never been as engaged in conversation with her the way Steve and James are, and so their interest in her stories still throws her for a loop every time she notices it.

But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like it.

(Nor does it mean she wants them to stop.)

Because honestly? Until them, she’d never known that she hadn’t been romanced— _truly_ romanced—like an equal, instead of just a stopgap, instead of just someone to kill time with until someone better—until _destiny_ —comes along. And god, but Steve and James are _good at it_ , good at making her feel _wanted_ , at making her feel like she’s someone they’ll love _permanently_ , someone they won’t let go.

Someone they’ll fight for.

Someone they’ll fight to _keep_.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that staying with them means she has the option of seeing _this_ whenever she walks into the bedroom. Darcy has to stop and stare a little, captivated by the way Steve’s ass flexes as he rocks his hips back and forth, and what’s left of her melancholic train of thought is derailed completely when James tells Steve to lean back, which allows her to see exactly what’s going on between them.

And Darcy? Darcy wants to be _all over that_ , like, _right now_ , and she’s moving before James is even done inviting her over.

Steve reaches out immediately once she’s near, turns her head and kisses her, coaxing her lips open and dipping his tongue past her lips. Thank goodness she’d brushed her teeth already, because this is one kiss she would _hate_ to stop just because of morning breath.

She’s just thinking about reaching around to jack James off too, or perhaps repositioning herself behind Steve altogether to accomplish the same goal, when James suddenly speaks up. “Darcy, sit on my face, darlin’, c’mere,” he says, and she has to laugh, because it’s the complete opposite of what she wants to do, and yet also something she would _like_ to do too.

Of course, he feels the same way about her idea, but as she’d learned over the last few months (or just the last few weeks, if she’s honest), James is a gentleman at heart, and pretty much abides by the saying ‘ladies first.’

 _Then again_ , she amends when he threatens to spank her for her disobedience and includes Steve in this little game he’s proposing they play. Dragging Steve into it like this is an unexpected, but rather masterful stroke on James’s part—unfair as all hell, yes, but still masterful.

“M’gonna get you wet,” James murmurs, his voice dropping to the sexy rumble that never fails to get her engine running. “Gonna use my mouth on your sweet cunt while Steve opens your little hole up so he can come inside it—” Both she and Steve groan at the same time, Darcy rocking her hips as she feels her pussy throb in anticipation. “—but only if you hold really, really still.”

She knows _damn well_ she can’t succeed, and so does he. “Or else what?” she asks anyway, unable to help herself, unable to resist.

“Or else you don’t come until Steve says you can,” he hums, turning his head to kiss her thigh, and she shudders at the consequence he’s proposed, because unlike James, Steve can be merciless when he wants to be, and knowing him, he’d deny her an orgasm for the whole damn day, would rather wait until she’s an easy ride—slick and open and all-too-willing to do anything for the chance to finally come—than give her an easy orgasm. From behind her, Steve groans, and, well, that makes her decision for her, really.

“Yeah,” she says breathlessly, and closes her eyes when she feels wetness seep past her already-parted lips. “Yeah, okay.”

“Jesus, Darcy,” Steve swears quietly, and she feels his nose and lips on her skin as he kisses the skin between her shoulder blades. “Sweetheart, why are you so _nice_ to me?”

She smiles, feeling _good_ at the sentiment. “Because I lo—” She stops, choking as she realizes what she’s saying, and then promptly wishes she hadn’t said anything at all. Anything would be better than the sudden, hopeful silence that descends upon the room.

“I know, sweetheart,” Steve tells her a few [too long] moments later, his hands drifting up her sides as he starts trailing kisses down her back. “God, yeah, I know.”

“Nearly there, darlin’,” James mumbles, kissing up her thigh, his metal hand holding her still. “M’so damn proud of you.”

On one hand, she feels like she shouldn’t let them continue, like they’re trying to reward her for something she doesn’t deserve, but at the same time, she also would like to lose herself in sex now please, would like to forget that she’d tried and _failed_ , yet again, to just _say it_. Before she can make up her mind, James licks up into her and gives her clit a light suck, and she hears Steve pop open the bottle of lube, and, well, that makes her decision for her too.

Thank goodness she’d taken the time to clean up back there, or she might’ve needed to put a stop to James’s plans.

“I love you too,” Steve murmurs, and times it perfectly so that any response she makes turns into stutters as he presses a slick finger into her ass, gentle and swift at the same time.

“Oh my god, Steve, _yes_ ,” she breathes.

“God, you sound so good,” Steve sighs against her back, and then curls his finger down and rubs circles within her, somehow hitting that place inside her that has her gushing for them, making her keen and shudder and dig her nails into the unyielding metal headboard, her mind splintering a little out of shock. “Yeah, that’s it. So sweet for us, baby doll.”

The moan that escapes her is completely involuntarily, the words sending a rush of heat from her gut to every cell of her body. She loves and hates hearing the pet name spill off his tongue; it makes her clit jump and her cunt throb, makes her want to stay _right_ there and do anything he asks of her at the same time. (The part of her that’s keeping track of the days and waiting for the other shoe to drop is _terrified_ of it—terrified of her own reaction, of the power Steve holds over her—because despite her failure to communicate it to him, she _does_ love him, so much that when the time comes, she knows she’ll come out of this worse than she had with Ian.)

(And, ironically enough, Ian at least had the excuse of being the bad guy when he broke her heart.)

“She is,” James murmurs in assent. “The best.” And then he leans up again and starts suckling her clit, and Darcy whines his name, the decadent act coupling with the already intense sensations of having Steve’s finger inside her ass. James hums in response, and the vibrations make her lick her own lips and shudder, giving in to the urge to jerk her hips back and forth for _more_.

“Honey,” Steve rumbles, and she does her best not to melt at the sound and potentially suffocate the super-soldier between her thighs, “you’re moving.”

“Yeah,” she moans, laughing a little. “I know.”

Steve nuzzles his cheek against her left shoulder and chuckles. “So damn nice to me, sweetheart,” he croons, and then pulls his finger back and presses another in, careful at first as he eases her open, then thrusting in a bit more forcefully when they’re past the seal of her sphincter. Darcy cries out, eyes rolling shut as her asshole struggles to accommodate the sudden stretch, a hot thrill shooting up and down her back at the light burn of his intrusion, her skin cooling as sweat breaks out across her nape and down her spine.

(And she thinks, _okay yeah_ , this is definitely one of the reasons she’s setting herself up for eventual heartbreak.)

*

Another upside to his and Bucky’s new schedule is that having a work-free morning means having more free time to… well, do anything. Usually, their free time involves brushing up on their… ah, _education_ , something he’d [correctly] assumed Bucky would be interested in; so, back in the early weeks of their reunion, he’d attained JARVIS’s help in teaching Bucky all he wanted to know about the future they landed in. (Of course, his worry of being excluded from Bucky’s lessons hadn’t even been an issue for his soulmate, because the first thing Bucky did when he was told of this option was to turn to Steve with a grin, clap a hand over his shoulder and say, “Well? What’re we waitin’ for?”)

(Steve had compartmentalized everything that day, but once night fell, he locked himself in the bathroom to cry happy tears as quietly as he could. Of course, Bucky had to go and ruin that by knocking on the door and telling him to stop hiding since “I can hear every goddamn sniffle, Steve, you moron, come out here.”)

But ever since they signed their new employment contract and minimized the military’s chances of getting their hands on his (and Bucky’s) person (legally speaking, anyway), Steve has found himself with more free time on his hands than he realized he was ready for. Worse, Natasha and Clint choose that week to disappear to check on one of their contacts and Tony gets commandeered by Pepper to travel for their company’s interests, which means that since half the team is gone, Steve has to cancel the team’s evening training session for the next few days, meaning he’s got even _more_ free time on his hands than he expected to have.

The past few days after their date have been agonizing, and even Bucky agrees that studying all day is making him feel irritated and useless.

“No more,” Bucky bemoans, dropping his tablet onto the cushions and arching into the couch’s backrest. “I don’t even wanna _look_ at my tablet for the next _week_.”

He chuckles and puts his own tablet to sleep. “Do you wanna watch a movie instead? We’ve still got a few decade’s worth of—”

“Let’s go see Darcy,” Bucky interrupts him, eyes gleaming, lips curling up suggestively.

Steve pauses to debate the pros and cons of— Oh, who was he kidding? The look on her face when he wouldn’t let her come a third time this morning has been hovering at the back of his thoughts, haunting him, simultaneously egging him on and begging him to do something about it. Thing is, Darcy had told him a long time ago how she gets when she’s being denied an orgasm, so he _knows_ she’s too busy working herself up—too busy thinking of all the ways she might get him to take pity on her and finally let her come—to be even capable of making a decent dent in her workload, and that? That’s just _amazing_ , knowing that he’s stuck in her head like that.

Vain, yes, very much so, but also pretty damn amazing.

So really, it would be better for her (and okay, them too) if they whisked her away for the day, never mind that it’s barely been four hours since they last saw each other.

“We really shouldn’t be having so much sex right now,” Steve points out, but he’s also already standing up from his place on the couch, so really, he’s sabotaging his own case before it’s even off the ground. “We’re trying to make sure she knows we love her, that we don’t want her for just sex.”

Bucky’s countenance grows serious. “We are, Steve,” he says, firmly but also gently. “You think taking sex out of the equation will help our case? It won’t. Right now, sex is the one way we can assure her—without casting doubt or suspicion in her mind—that we’re still very much interested in her. You know that, you _see_ that.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, his erection wilting at the rather depressing topic. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the sex, but… well. Maybe he’s lying a little bit when he says he doesn’t mind that she still can’t tell him she loves him. _Not_ because he’s impatient to hear it—he can wait forever if that’s the case—but because he suspects she can’t say it because she still hasn’t _really_ forgiven him, still doesn’t really _trust_ him—not with her heart, not to _stay_ with her this time around…

It hurts. It hurts to think that, of _course_ it does, and what’s worse is that no matter how much or how hard he tries, nothing he does seems to convince her of his conviction, of his intention to be true to his word and—

“Stop it,” Bucky says, cutting into his thoughts. “You’re overthinkin’ it now, punk. Don’t.” And then he places a hand over Steve’s nape to pull him close and press their foreheads together. “She’s almost there, Steve,” he murmurs earnestly, looking Steve right in the eye. “Just gotta be patient with her, the way you were with me.”

“It was different with you,” Steve whispers, and promptly feels ashamed to give voice to that opinion, especially because it wasn’t accurate. True, the circumstances were different, but only because Bucky had, for a while, been dead to him, been lost to him in a way that drove him to despair, to hopelessness, so _of course_ he’s patient with him.

“Not that much,” his other half chides him quietly, and he has to admit that Bucky’s got a point there. Steve had been— _is_ —willing to be patient with him not just because he loves Bucky, but because he also feels guilty [for failing to know Bucky wasn’t dead, for not knowing his soulmate had needed saving since his fall from that damn train] and regretful [for all the things Bucky had been through, all the things he _wouldn’t_ have had to experience if Steve had only _realized_ that he was alive, that he had survived the fall] and scared [of going back to life without his other half at his side, and God, but he doesn’t—will _never_ —want to go back to that], and he feels the same way about Darcy. He loves her, _so_ much, but he feels guilty for leaving her, for not treating her right and for not doing anything about her obvious descent into sadness, and he’s scared that she doesn’t _really_ [or that she would _never]_ forgive him for all that, for all of the sins he’s committed against her.

“You’re right,” he sighs, and it’s true. He is right and Bucky is right. They’re _both_ right. What was that saying—same song, different verse? Except that Steve’s growing tired of the song, growing tired [not of the people, of course not, but] of the circumstances he’s caused, the emotional upheaval he keeps leaving in his wake—

“Stop it,” Bucky growls, fingers squeezing warningly over the back of his neck. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“How do you even know that?” Steve complains, but his heart’s not in it at all, still wrapped up in feelings of guilt and self-deprecation.

“Known you since you were four-foot-nothin’, ya idiot,” is said with an exasperated but fond tone. “You think I can’t tell by now what you look like when you’re brooding about your short-comings? Or what you _think_ are your short-comings anyway. If y’ask me, the only thing short-coming about you—”

Steve snorts, already knowing where Bucky was going with this, and the familiar ribbing helps a little in lifting his spirits. The sound has Bucky peering up at him with a delighted look in his eye, and hell, Steve has never been able to stay grumpy when Bucky’s trying to cheer him up, especially now, after all that’s happened to him. To _them_.

“You jerk,” Steve sighs, smiling despite himself.

“You know you love me,” Bucky smirks, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and Steve scowls at the [unfortunately] familiar intonation.

“If you start quoting that ri- _diculous_ show—”

Sadly, this only eggs Bucky on. “X-O-X-O,” he laughs, and the only reason he doesn’t finish the sentence is because the elevator suddenly chimes and admits Thor onto the lower landing of the common area.

“Steven, James,” Thor greets as he practically bounces up the steps. “I’m afraid I’ve been banished from my beloved’s laboratory, and I wonder if I might entice either of you to spar with me.”

He glances at Bucky, who shrugs, so Steve nods. “Sure,” he says, because this might just be what they need to feel less… stifled.

Of course, it doesn’t take him long to realize that their teammate is apparently in the same boat they are, and has been for a much longer time already.

“I understand your frustration,” Thor agrees when Steve brings up their sudden lack of duties as the reason for the sudden increase in their exuberance for fighting. “I was as restless as you now are during my first weeks here on Earth. I had gone from being Crown Prince of an entire realm to… well, to a mere warrior with no war to fight, my only duty being Jane’s beloved. My love was there with me at first, of course, but Jane’s work with the Convergence had drawn the eye of the scholastic community, and it wasn’t long before I found myself with much time on my hands while she fell into her work. She’s the foremost astronomer on the planet, you know,” he says, his pride for her unmistakable despite how tiny his smile is. Steve suddenly feels _angry_ for Thor, angry at _Jane_ , because looking at him now, it was obvious that Thor was incredibly devoted her, and that Jane was _not_ devoted to him, not in the manner that can compare to Thor’s dedication to her anyway.

“It was Lady Darcy who gave me purpose in this world,” Thor adds, smiling fondly, and that catches their attention. “She took it upon herself to teach me the many laws of this realm. Brought me to eat at restaurants and taught me dining etiquette. Provided me with movies and music and books from which to learn the many cultures of this realm. Almost all that I know of Earth was taught to me by Lady Darcy, and for that, I fell in love with her easily. Not romantically, of course,” he tacks on before Steve can do more than jerk back and open his mouth in surprise, Bucky twitching in reaction as well, “but as a close friend, as one of my _true_ friends. She is precious to me, I hope you know that.”

“We do,” Steve nods, his heart settling from the brief horror he’d felt, scared—if only for a moment—that he’d made a mistake somewhere, had somehow missed the part where Thor and Darcy had been more than friends and forgetting, also just for a moment, that he would’ve noticed being flattened with Mjölnir if that had been the case. But once he digests that Thor had meant the declaration platonically, he realizes he’s incredibly glad and _grateful_ that Thor feels that way for Darcy, because if he hadn’t, if Thor didn’t care so much for Darcy, then Steve (and Bucky) might’ve never met her, and the mere thought of not knowing her… It makes him feel weak, makes his gut churn and his eyes burn with the threat of tears.

He can’t imagine—can _not_ imagine—what kind of life he’d have without her in it.

“Thor,” he says, impulse and urgency driving him to speak, to say his piece. “Thor, thank you,” he tells the thunder god, and Thor’s expression betrays his surprise. “If not for you, if you didn’t love her like that, I would never have met her. And if I hadn’t met her, I don’t know what my life would be like right now. I—” He stops, because he can’t say _that_ , that’s too… personal. Not even Bucky knows what he’d been thinking the night he arrived at the tower, the night he met Darcy.

Hell, even _Darcy_ doesn’t know, has no damn clue what thoughts she’d interrupted when she found him in the dark that night.

So he sighs and shakes his head and says, “I don’t know,” and it’s true—he’s _doesn’t_ know, isn’t sure what to say, because he’s not sure what life he would’ve had if Darcy wasn’t in it. “Just— thank you,” he ends up saying lamely.

Thor softens and smiles, an understanding look crossing his face. “You are very welcome, Steven,” he says, and claps a firm, friendly hand on Steve’s shoulder. “And I thank _you_ as well,” he returns earnestly, “for opening her heart to love again. I know not what she might’ve been had you not become what you were and are to her, but I know she lives a happier life now, and it is thanks to you, you _and_ James,” he adds, acknowledging Bucky with a nod.

“And you too,” Bucky murmurs quietly. “You’re precious to her too,” he tells Thor, who smiles, clearly pleased to hear it, “and your acceptance—of us, our relationship… it’s helped a lot, Thor. Thank you for being her friend.”

None of them were in the mood to spar anymore after that, never mind that he and Bucky (who were already competitive with each other) had yet to beat Thor, who had forced them to yield several times already. (Steve suspects there was a point to that, though he can’t get a sure read on Thor about it.)

In any case, all of them are feeling upbeat and hyped up on positive, friendly ‘vibes’ now, so they unanimously decide to clean up and venture down to the twenty-fifth floor to grab lunch a little early. Again, Steve finds himself frowning as he realizes Thor’s been picking up lunches for Jane for a while now, and his indignant empathy for Thor’s situation seems worse now that they’ve all bonded over Darcy. (Still, he _has_ seen Jane make the effort of putting her work aside when it’s time for lunch, and honestly, how many times has he jealously watched her and Thor being all sweet to each other during the days he and Bucky make it to lunch with them?)

(He reminds himself that Jane _does_ love Thor, even if she doesn’t show it as intensely as Thor does for her. And besides, it really was none of his business, is it? Not unless it affects team dynamics anyway, and even then, he can’t just butt in or do anything equally rude, can he?)

Speaking of Darcy, though…

“Can I borrow them now?” Darcy demands, rather rudely, as soon as the elevator opens and reveals her presence on the other side of the doors. “Are you done _hogging_ them for yourself?”

Thor smirks at her in a way Steve’s never seen the thunder god smirk before. “That depends,” Thor replies. “Am I allowed to see my Jane now?”

Things click for Steve as Darcy irately replies, “Yes, yes, shoo already!” and Thor chuckles rather evilly as he strides out the elevator car and into the lab. “Drop those,” she demands, and Steve, goddamn, but he knows exactly what she wants and can’t help himself, not now that she’s here and clearly desperate to jump either one of them.

So despite the swift return of his arousal, he merely shifts the takeout bag to free one arm and slips it around her waist, guiding her out of the car. “No can do, baby doll,” he murmurs, kissing the top of her head, and is extremely pleased with the small whine this ekes out of her. “Jane is right around the corner. You’d just end up a lot more frustrated.” His lips quirk up. “Especially since I won’t be letting you come just yet.”

“Steve, please,” she whimpers quietly, and Steve has to bite the inside of his cheeks at the sound. _God_ , what he’d give to have her in bed right now.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he tells her, then greets Jane and Erik as he enters the lab proper.

(And then he bites his cheeks harder as he realizes the irony of his words, and studiously ignores the knowing snort that Bucky lets him hear.)

*

On a typical day, he and Steve will wake up, go for a run, seduce Darcy, shower together, walk Darcy to the lab, spar for half an hour, get ready to fly over to D.C., attend the farce of a meeting the Army brass insist on having, fly back to the tower in time to attend lunch with Darcy (and company), spend the rest of the afternoon studying, rummage through the data they have on HYDRA with the team, train with the team, have dinner with Darcy (and the team, and their civilian housemates), and then retire to the bedroom to wait for Darcy to arrive.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is a typical day for him and Steve.

Today (this _week)_ , however, is not anything remotely typical for them. There is no flying over to D.C. and no data-rummaging or training or dinner with the team, and after just three days of dedicating their mornings and afternoons to their studies, he’s ready to tear his hair out and actually step foot _outside_ the tower, just to find a way out of this hell he and Steve have unwittingly put themselves in. It doesn’t help that he knows Darcy is just two floors below them, probably squirming in her seat, rubbing her thighs together, wishing she could drop a hand and rub one off right there in her seat, Foster and Selvig’s presence be damned, and the mere knowledge that she’d be wet for them and willing to skip out on work if it meant she could come…

Well, he’d _obviously_ prefer to go do that instead of spending another minute reading about the numerous royals the French have had beheaded.

Of course, he doesn’t expect Steve to go back on that old tangent about why they shouldn’t be having ‘so much sex’ with Darcy, nor does he expect the near-breakdown Steve falls into after he reminds Steve why they can’t stop sleeping with her.

Thank god for Thor, pun fully intended. Divine intervention had never been more literal than when that elevator deposited the alien prince in the common room, helping him keep Steve from staggering under the weight of his own self-recriminations _and_ helping them get out of the rut they’d sunken into since they stopped going to D.C.

Neither does he expect them to bond with Thor over their relationships with Darcy, but it’s good that they do. They want their relationship with Darcy to last, and according to the articles he’d read about how to do just that (okay, so maybe he wasn’t _just_ reading up on French history. It’s called multitasking, okay?), one of the most important things to do was befriend your partner’s friends, _especially_ the best friend. And though Darcy once said that Foster held this title, he’s pretty sure that it’s really Thor who deserves to be called that, considering they spend nearly every afternoon together, and Thor is far more considerate of Darcy’s feelings than Foster has proven to be.

And it doesn’t hurt that Thor is genuinely just as pleased to improve their friendship. (He suspects, however, that there was a reason why Thor had been showing off in the gym earlier—Thor’s version of a ‘shovel talk’, he thinks—and Steve’s sudden expression of gratitude, no matter how sincere, had been a rather ingenious ploy to take the wind out of Thor’s sails.)

Of course, the highlight of the day—of any of their days—will always be Darcy, especially when she’s all flushed pink and squirming in her seat, going so far as to shoot him and Steve pleading glances whenever Foster isn’t looking at her. To be fair, he’s in no better shape, and he knows standing would’ve _definitely_ been an issue for him if he hadn’t thought ahead and worn a looser shirt to hide the erection in his pants.

God, he doesn’t know how Steve does it, how Steve can just sit there and pretend that he’s not aware of every tick and shift of Darcy’s body, the way her foot jiggles under the table, the way she keeps rubbing her thumb on the underside of her fork and _Christ_ , _that’s_ **_maddening_** , he realizes suddenly, imagining that she’s doing that to his dick and _wishing_ he could just _let her_. Of course, imagining her giving him a hand job under the table soon turns into a daydream of reciprocating her ministrations, which of course ends up with him fantasizing about how he’d like it very much if he can just spread her out on the table and get _his_ mouth on her body.

And the worst part? The worst part is that he thinks she just might not mind that at all, wouldn’t mind having their relationship outed so long as she gets to _come_ , her thighs wrapped around his head and her fingers in his hair to hold him still as she rides his face until she’s limp and sated and _happy_.

He doesn’t do it, of course, doesn’t reach over and touch her, doesn’t even let her see how much he’s affecting him, how badly he wants her already. To his smug delight, his apparent stoicism, along with Steve’s, clearly wreaks havoc on her mind.

But if there’s one thing he’s learned about Darcy over the last few months, it’s that she can fight just as dirty as he and Steve can. She doesn’t do it often, but she’s very much capable of it, and it’s clear that this is what she’s doing when she braces herself on his thigh, fingers scratching _blatantly_ over his jean-covered crotch, as she reaches for one of the soda cans in the cooler behind them.

A strangled sound escapes him at the sensation. He doesn’t mean to let it, but she’d caught him off-guard with this stunt, and everyone turns to look at him. Well, everyone except Selvig, who almost never joins in on their conversations. (And when Selvig _does_ deign to speak to them, he’ll talk about things no one but Thor and Foster—and occasionally Darcy—will understand, and sometimes Selvig will do it in his native tongue, so Darcy and Foster can’t join in at all. Even then, he still doesn’t understand what Selvig is saying, never mind that he can translate what the other man is saying.)

“Everything all right, Buck?” Steve asks, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Ticklish,” he excuses simply, and Darcy smiles up at him apologetically.

“Sorry,” she says, popping the tab of her new drink.

 _Minx_ , he thinks, and refrains from teasing her back. There will be time for that later, and when he reciprocates, he will _not_ be pressed for time _or_ need to worry about Foster catching them at it.

After lunch, Thor helps them with the dishes and the trash, then heads back to the lab to meet with Darcy for their afternoon ‘Midgardian lessons’, as he’d called it, leaving him and Steve to search for another way to kill time on their own. A little sick of studying, he immediately challenges Steve to a few rounds on the gaming station, something he normally wouldn’t do due to the rampant violence present in today’s ‘entertainment’.

(He’d been horrified to discover this, actually. He’s proud to remember a time when violence was something to be found only in the slums, in the back alleys and under the cover of night, but these days, a crime can happen right inside someone’s _home_ and everyone nearby would crowd around to get a look-see, morbid curiosity spurring them on instead of genuine concern for one’s neighbor. And it’s no wonder, really, when people see such things on the television and think that it’s normal to do those things, to ask what happened and be worried that it might happen to them next, but still never take the threat seriously enough.)

(Even cartoon games meant for children have it, and once he found _that_ one out, he couldn’t touch the game station for weeks, sick at the idea that there are people out there who make games that allow kids to think—to _learn_ —that it’s okay kill people, even if they _are_ the bad guys. It’s a far cry from how _he_ had been raised, a far cry from the life he used to dream for the kids he never got to have, and sometimes, he can’t help but think that the future wasn’t worth it, that this—all this—was _not_ what Bucky Barnes died for.)

(What _Steve Rogers_ died for.)

(Sometimes, the future just _sucks_.)

Steve hates the gaming station too, actually, but not for the same reasons.

“This is ridiculous!” his better half declares as he puts his fists up, controllers in either hand.

 _Ding, ding!_ “ _Fight!”_ the digital referee cheerfully declares right back, and he jabs his right fist towards the screen, hitting Steve several times before Steve’s character starts to duck and weave. Video games about sports were just about the only kind he can stand, and unlike in real life, they can’t rely on their physical strength to win. They still need to time things right, and they need the cooperation of their remote controllers, but nothing else besides those, which ticks Steve off to no end.

He _loves_ it.

“C’mon, punk, it’s like you’re not even tryin’,” he taunts after winning several rounds, which has Steve scowling like he’s still five-foot-four and likely to be picked on by mooks bigger and dumber than him.

He loves _that_ too.

“What a meanie,” Darcy says from behind them, which has him turning his head in surprise, because he hadn’t heard the elevator _or_ her, and Darcy… well, she’s never been one for stealth, has she? “Steve, baby, you gonna put up with this loudmouthed jerk?” she asks, grinning and winking at him, and he smiles back after he’s done checking the perimeter for other intruders.

“ _Hell_ no, dollface,” Steve drawls, a smile tugging at his lips. “Not in a million years.”

“Hah! Bring it, Rogers, c’mon, show me whatcha got, sweet cheeks,” he smirks, and they go right back to trying to beat each other’s characters up—

“Darcy!” Steve gasps suddenly, and his character takes a punch that reduces his life to twenty percent.

“Keep playing,” Darcy murmurs, and a quick peek to his right shows him that she’s got her foot between Steve’s legs, the toes of her sock-covered feet pressing up against their boy’s crotch. “Winner gets to fuck me first tonight.”

He’s just about to agree to the terms—eagerly too—when Steve suddenly drops his controllers and turns to their girl. “No goddamn way,” Steve growls, and Darcy gasps and moans when their boy blatantly reaches a hand between her thighs and digs his fingers into the area where her clit should be. “The only time this—” he pushes against her body so that she sinks a little further into couch, drawing a cry from Darcy’s lips, “—gets any attention again is when I’ve got your legs on my shoulders.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she whimpers, looking dazed at the declaration, and he doesn’t blame her—those words out of Steve mouth in _that_ tone with _those_ actions? Completely unexpected, and unexpectedly, _insanely_ hot, and he’s glad it wasn’t aimed at him.

As it is, his already half-hard dick perks up in interest with the proceedings, and he nearly crushes the controller in his left hand when Steve adds, “And when you come, it’ll be around my cock when I fuck into you, not because you got groped through your pants,” which is— just—

He’ll admit to his brain fizzling out for a moment. He will. Because that imagery—Steve sliding into her and Darcy coming immediately from just that—is so goddamn _beautiful_ , his dick actually weeps a little.

“Oh my god, Steve,” she moans, looking as lust-stunned as he feels, her face flushed with desire, body shifting so she can rock up to the hand touching her through her jeans. “Please, no, let me come, baby, let me come for you _now_ ,” she murmurs, which is _cheating_ , because she knows what that tone and that nickname does to Steve.

But Steve, though he closes his eyes and groans lightly, doesn’t look like he’s about to give in. Which is honestly impressive, because if it were him she’d said that too, she’d be halfway naked already.

“You will come,” Steve promises, which is ominous and hot all at once. “I promise. But you can wait until tonight to come for me, can’t you, kitten?” he adds, and _that_. _That_ is cheating, because they both know damn well that whatever Steve asks, Darcy will do.

Especially if it’s for sex.

“Come here,” Steve says, moving his hand away from her sex and sliding up her back to pull her into a kiss, one that has Darcy clinging to him like a vine.

“I was wrong,” Darcy mumbles once Steve pulls back, nuzzling her cheek with the tip of his nose. “ _You’re_ the mean one.”

“You like it when I’m mean to you,” Steve murmurs back, smug as all hell.

“I like how sweet you get after you’re mean to me,” she admits unexpectedly, and the look she gives Steve when he meets her gaze is loaded with everything she can’t say to him.

Steve, ever the sap, melts into her for it. “I love you too,” his soulmate tells her softly, kissing her tenderly, and he smiles, pleased beyond belief at the exchange. Darcy might not have said those very words to him, but they can read her like a book, and what Steve had just seen clearly helps with the issues plaguing him earlier this morning.

Darcy shifts uncomfortably and pulls back, biting her lip, self-recrimination all over her face, and _Christ_ these two, they’re like… like…

 _Like two peas in a pod_ , he thinks, and huffs to himself in amusement. He and Darcy may share similar issues and doubts, but the same can be said of her and Steve. And, now that he thinks about it, of him and Steve too.

Jesus. The three of them were quite the… trio? Threesome? (Oh, god, not this again.)

“Thought you boys were playing,” she says, sounding nervous, but she doesn’t move to let go of Steve, clearly just trying to change the subject.

“I changed my mind,” Steve murmurs, leaning in slowly to kiss her again, and Darcy kindly waits a few seconds before turning the kiss into something less chaste.

(Steve, the gullible love-fool, doesn’t mind anymore.)

*

They end up fucking the afternoon away, and Darcy can’t bring herself to regret it, not when she comes out of it with seven orgasms and a gorgeous set of dark bruises in the shape of Steve’s mouth and fingers. The only thing she _does_ regret is the fact that she’d drunken those two cans of sodas during lunch, because her bladder wakes her up sometime later and demands to be relieved, which means giving up her place between her napping lovers.

They rouse too, of course, when she does, though it only takes a quickly murmured, “Bathroom,” to settle them back down again.

She has to wince when she starts peeing though, her still-sensitive clit protesting the heat of her pee and the chill of the water. After a moment, she decides to go all the way and stays a few minutes longer on the toilet, ridding herself of everything she can before cleaning up— _thoroughly_ , of course—and then brushing her teeth and washing her face.

Of course, she also has to pause at the doorway when she sees Steve and James making out, and not the urgent, ‘let’s fuck’ kind of making out either. No, this is the unhurried, ‘I love you’ kind of making out, the one that makes her hesitate to interrupt, the one that reminds her that despite everything, _they’re_ the ones who _truly_ belong to each other, and not to anyone else.

Not to her.

“Are you ever gonna come back to bed?” James asks against Steve’s lips, and, well, who else can he be talking to but her?

“Just enjoying the view,” she lies, false bravado in her every step as she climbs back onto the mattress and, thinking twice about getting in between them, settles in beside James, dropping a kiss over the plate on his shoulder and reaching under his arm to touch Steve’s wrist.

“No, why are you so far away?” Steve complains, twisting their hands so that he can grip _her_ wrist and tug at it pointedly, urging her to return to her old position.

“I didn’t wanna interrupt the show,” she says, which isn’t exactly a lie, but somehow still ends up as one.

James sighs and turns over, carefully slipping his metal arm under her, and then making her squeal when he rolls her over his body so that she’s back in the middle. “I don’t like you bein’ on my left,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “My arm… it could pinch or break your skin if it recalibrates while I’m not payin’ it attention, and I don’t want that. Okay?”

She inhales deeply and cups his cheek, returning the kiss he’d given her. “Okay,” she acknowledges, then jerks and squeaks when Steve brushes his fingers over her ribs. “Steve!”

“Shh,” he says, kissing down her shoulder. “I’m seducing you.”

“ _Again?”_ she asks, failing to not laugh, because Christ, but he can be so ridiculously insatiable sometimes.

…well, okay, not just _sometimes_.

“Sore?” he asks back, though by his tone, he already knows the answer to that.

“Not yet,” she smirks, and he pushes her carefully onto her back and moves his mouth over her breast, his hand sliding down between her thighs. She grunts a little when Steve tries to play with her clit, but he gets the message easily and slips his finger lower instead, teasing the rim of her still-swollen, highly sensitive pussy.

 _Seven_ , she remembers suddenly. She’d already come seven times, and might just end up rounding off the tally to ten if this ends up going the way she thinks it’ll go, and not for the first time, she finds herself wondering if she would’ve been this sexually active with her other lovers if they’d bothered to rile her up the way Steve and James do. The thought doesn’t last long though, because James curls his metal fingers over her breast and plucks at her other nipple, lazily pushing up and leaning over to kiss her lips before making his way down to that spot under her jaw that has her leaking around Steve’s probing finger.

“Darcy,” James moans against her throat when she wraps her hand around his erection, a little sticky from the last time he’d fucked and come inside her.

“Get the lube,” she tells him, and he moans again and clearly has to tear himself away to do as she asked.

 _Thud!_ goes the drawer when he pulls at it a little too hard and falls out of the nightstand completely, which startles and then amuses both herself and Steve.

“We’re never keeping the lube in there again,” he swears as he repositions himself beside her again, and Steve ends up laughing harder against her skin at James’s declaration. “No, seriously,” James insists. “We never entertain guests in here anyway, so why the hell do we keep our sex things hidden?”

“So what do you call me?” she asks unthinkingly, laughing, but that tapers off when Steve stops abruptly and they both rear back to look at her.

“You… You think you’re a guest?” James asks, surprised, and Darcy finally realizes that she’d unwittingly stepped on a rather huge landmine.

“Um,” she says eloquently, immediately trying to think of a way to change the subject.

“This is your room too,” Steve tells her before she can come up with anything, his expression and tone serious and firm. “Darcy, if you want to move in, if you want your stuff here too— God, how have we never talked about this before—?”

“Really?” she finds herself asking, also unthinkingly, and Steve’s expression goes tight and pained at the insecurity that even _she_ can hear in her voice.

“Yes. Darcy, of _course_ ,” he says, voice going thick with emotion, his hands curling around her knee and elbow, like he’s trying to keep from bolting. Honestly though? She doesn’t even remember she has legs to run with until he brings her attention to them. “I’d love it if you moved in. You know I would.”

And really, he’s right; she _does_ know that he’d be ecstatic if she did just that. James too. It’s just that…

(It’s just that today is the twenty-fourth day that she’s woken up in this room—in this _bed_ —and the part of her that’s keeping track of the days is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

“We’ve only been dating a week,” she says aloud, not as an argument, simply as a fact. And no, she is definitely _not_ using that fact to tamp down on the hope that’s welling in her chest.

James opens his mouth, but seems to think twice about what he would’ve said. “True,” he tells her instead. “But… it feels longer that than, doesn’t it?”

It does—she’ll give him that; although, it may only feel that way because they’d been fucking before they started dating, and so is that _really_ a good argument to make?

“Yes, but—” She pauses, because now that she thinks about it, refusing to move in with them when she already spends so much time in here than in her own room—it’s a ridiculous notion, isn’t it? Hell, the only times she even went _back_ to her room was to dump her used clothes down the laundry chute and grab a fresh set to wear the next day. All her toys had already migrated to their nightstands, and she even has her own toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and body wash in their bathroom.

So really, what the hell is the big deal?

… _nothing_ , she realizes rather quickly. Actually, she feels herself go warm and puddle-y instead of panicking and going berserk over the idea, probably because they’ve just said they _want_ her to move in—

“You shouldn’t make a decision about it right now,” Steve says unexpectedly, and the look on his face and the tone of his voice tells her just how much it had cost him to say the words aloud. “You should… take a few days to think about it, or however long you need,” he amends, taking a deep breath afterward. “Talk to Thor. Or to Bruce or Nat or Clint even, if you need advice. Bucky and I are… a little biased,” he smiles, but it’s not the relaxed, happy kind of smile she loves so much, is instead the terrified-but-still-soldiering-on kind of smile she _doesn’t_ quite like at all.

“He’s right,” James nods. “This is your car, remember? We ain’t gonna force you to do anythin’ you don’t wanna do.”

“I just want you to know your options,” Steve whispers, suddenly looking ashamed. “I didn’t mean to imply that you should do what I said or anything—”

“I know,” she murmurs, and impulsively sits up and shifts so she can straddle Steve, making his breath hitch when she presses herself down against his wilting erection, rousing its interest once more. “Thank you, baby,” she tells him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips and staying there until she feels him relax and slide his arms around her. “You too,” she says to James, curling her fingers around his nape and urging him to kiss her too. “Thank you.”

“Always,” James assures her, gently kissing her again.

“I love you,” Steve whispers against her shoulder. “So much.”

“I— Me too,” she stammers, still stumbling over the words, but needing desperately to let him know that she _does_ return his feelings.

“Good job, darlin’,” James says, beaming at her, but she can neither be proud of herself for this poor excuse of a reply, nor even feel insulted when that dark little voice in the back of her head notes how the compliment makes her sound like a dog completing a trick for the first time. Instead, she presses her face against Steve’s neck and keeps her mouth shut, if only so that she doesn’t bring the mood down again.

It was actually pretty ironic, because she had _just_ been warming up to the idea of moving in with them, but her failure to return Steve's words of affection reminds her why she _can’t_ move in with them like that. Not yet. Not when she can’t say the words back.

Still, Steve doesn’t seem to mind that she has, yet again, failed to tell him she loves him; in fact, he sucks in a breath, a small laugh—of _relief_ , she realizes quickly—escaping him as he holds onto her tighter.

(It doesn’t make her feel any better about it though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually hate this ending. I was striving for a better one, but when I reread _that_ scene, it just suddenly didn't make sense that she'd be okay with moving in with them. I lost about twelve-plus paragraphs to that, _god_.
> 
> Anyway, please let me know how I did, and if I missed anything trigger-y, I'm so, so sorry if that hit you. Do tell me what it was so I can put it up there on the top notes section. Thank you =D
> 
> EDIT: Also, I 'fixed' the tags on this story. God, I can't believe how messy that was. Anyway, please let me know if I should expand or add more warnings up there too. Thank you!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's issues are brought up, though not quite resolved yet. Steve's and Bucky issues... well, not even brought up, not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, still alive, just bogged down with so much RL stuff. I joined an insurance agency recently, which didn't help with my already full plate (thanks, girlfriend of my grandfather, for backing me into a corner and leaving me no option to say no without me looking bad in front of my family), thus, the lateness of _this_ chapter. I swear, I only had Bucky's POV to go when the insurance thing happened, and I was just about to post it when I realized it was Ant-Man time, so I held off in case of inspiration and OMGOMGOMG you GUYS the POST-CREDIT SCENE AAAAAAAH! YOU MUST WATCH IT AAAAAAHAHAHA!
> 
> ...okay. Wow. AHEM.
> 
> Warnings: relationship angst, mentions of depression and possible suicidal intentions. See notes at the bottom for more details. And, as usual, if I missed a possible trigger, or if you think one of the things I listed needs to be specified, please let me know and I'll add it up here =D

Darcy doesn’t go back to sleep after Steve wakes her up that morning. She tries, of course, but once her scumbag brain recovers from the reboot Steve gives her, it reminds her of the conversation they had the day before and goes, _God, how awkward is it to be here when they’re not around, right?_

That she’d managed to let the issue slip from her mind would’ve been weird, but honestly? She’d done her very best to forget about it yesterday—by engaging Natasha and Clint in a conversation over dinner (in Farsi, of course, because it’s fun and she rarely gets to practice), and also by filling in the rest of the time with great, exhausting sex (what else?) with her two gorgeous, very willing lovers. And really, when Darcy Lewis puts her all into being her best, she _means_ it.

Her _brain_ though, Jesus _Christ_.

So she’s pulling on yesterday’s clothes almost as soon as they’re out the door, scurrying to her room to make use of her own bathroom for the first time in weeks. Or, okay, there was that time over a week ago, the first time they screwed the afternoon away, so it’s really been just the one week…

In any case, yesterday’s unexpected discussion had very suddenly made her unbearably aware that their room is, in fact, _their_ room, and Darcy cannot call it home [even though she already does] until…

Until…

Well, she’s not sure. Until she tells Steve she loves him, sure, but what if she finally does and ends up not being ready to move in with them? Or what if this relationship falls apart, or if they change their minds about her moving in after all, or not just about her moving in with them, but about _her_ altoge—

No. No, she can’t—shouldn’t—think like that. How many times have they assured her that they’re in this for long hau—?

Wait. Technically, they never explicitly said they were in this for the long haul, did they? They just _insinuated_ —

 _Stop that_ , she tells herself, scrubbing her loofah over her left arm angrily. _They’re_ not the problem, after all. _She_ is.

God, what is she even doing? She shouldn’t be barging in on their relationship, shouldn’t be complicating things for them, shouldn’t have conceded to James’s proposal all those months ago, no matter how much she missed Steve.

Her thoughts fall into an uninterrupted cycle as her body goes through the motions of rinsing, drying off and dressing up, and twenty minutes after Steve and James leave for their run, Darcy is still chastising herself for all the trouble she’s caused as she slinks into the kitchen. It’s too damn early in the morning and she’s not really hungry, but she knows better than to skip a meal now that she knows JARVIS will tell on her, so she plans on grabbing breakfast before work. Cereal maybe, or toast.

And coffee. _Lots_ of coffee.

Just over ten minutes later, she’s sitting down at her desk, her stomach containing a slice of toast and her hands holding a mug of coffee each. It’s not that she wants to dive straight for the workload she’d abandoned, not really, because her duties are a little mind-numbing and boring, to be honest. But she also doesn’t want to keep thinking about… well, the things she’s been thinking of since she woke up this morning, so, work it is.

An hour goes by, along with it half the work she’d practically abandoned yesterday, before she’s startled by James suddenly setting down a glass of orange juice on her desk, where she can’t knock it over.

“Oh, thank you,” she says after recovering from her fright, turning her chair to face him, that awkwardness returnin— “Mmph!” she sounds when he leans in to kiss her, hard and firm and totally panty-melting, _Christ, how does he do that!_ She’s not entirely sure when the awkwardness leaves, but it’s gone by the time James pulls back, his hands sliding down to cup her hips as he kneels between the legs she hadn’t realized she’d spread for him until that moment.

“You mad at us, doll?” he asks in that rumbly voice that makes her miss what he’d actually said for a few seconds.

“Huh?” she asks back, confused, having forgotten everything but the way he makes her feel, if only for a few moments. “Oh! No! God, no, of course not,” she says quickly once she realizes what he means. “Why would I be mad at you?”

James smiles, looking relieved despite the blasé attitude he’d been sporting just a second ago. “You’ve been weird since we talked about you moving in,” he tells her easily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Steve was worried we might’ve scared you off.” His smile turns wry. “You know how convincing he can get when he sets his mind to worrying.”

Darcy closes her eyes and exhales, guilt suffusing every inch of her. Yes, she does feel awkward around them now, it’s not because she’s mad at _them_. No, she feels awkward around them now because she’s mad at _herself_ , because seeing them now reminds her of what she could’ve had— _can have_ —if she could only say those three little words back to Steve. She’s running because of _her_ failures, not because of anything they did, but now she realizes she should’ve _known_ Steve would take it that way, should’ve realized they wouldn’t miss her being ‘weird’ around them.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, leaning in to press her forehead to his, her hands sliding up to clutch at his broad shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. Either of you.”

He nods and kisses her again, lightly this time. “It’s okay,” he assures her in a calm tone. “S’long as we’re okay?”

“I hope so,” she agrees, unable to keep from smiling at his hopeful tone, despite the negative feelings swirling inside her.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks, and not for the first time, she’s reminded of how much she loves it when he asks her that question. Unlike when the other ask her those very words, there is no expectancy in his tone or body language, just an offer that she can take or refuse. Ironically, it’s that lack of expectation that makes her want to spill her guts, to tell him her every thought to him, both positive and negative and the things that fall in between.

“You’d make a great therapist,” she finds herself saying, and he barks a surprised laugh.

“Darlin’, I’d be a _terrible_ therapist,” he rebuffs, shaking his head. “I’m only just gettin’ my head back together. Like hell would I be a good choice to be playin’ doctor with someone’s mind.”

“You’re not _just_ getting your head back together,” she smiles, hurting a little at the mention of his progress. (Because, whatever the rate he’s going, at least he _is_ progressing.) “And that’s not what I meant, anyway. I meant— listening. You’re a good listener, and you give good advice. To me, if not to anyone else,” she amends, and he smiles, looking pleased to hear it.

“I’ll always want to listen to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, squeezing her hips with his hands. “Dun’ matter when or where or how. I’ll make sure you can always talk to me.”

She’s not sure why, but a weight she hadn’t even realized was there lifts at the promise he just made.

“I love you,” she tells him, helpless to hold the words back.

James smiles wider. “I love you too,” he replies, “even if you tend to shift topics when you’re not comfortable with the last one.”

Darcy blinks, and winces when she realizes he was right. “I didn’t mean to,” she says honestly, groaning, because she really hadn’t realized that that was what she’d done .

“I know,” he assures her, bringing her right hand up with his left so he can kiss her knuckles. “I just want you to know, I don’t mind that you don’t wanna talk about things, but you can tell me that outright too, instead of changing the subject.”

She bites her lip, wondering when exactly that particular habit of hers had developed. Was it after she was… was it a _recent_ acquisition, or has she been doing this since… well, since she was sixteen? She may never know the answer to _that_ question, considering she’d never noticed doing it before James pointed it out to her.

“Oh, hey, no,” he says, bringing his hand up to cup her jaw and tease his thumb over her lip, urging her to release it from between her teeth. “Don’t worry about it, doll. It’s okay. I do it sometimes too.”

“I don’t mean to,” she confesses, fingers curling into his shoulders, her nails catching and tugging at his shirt, as the need to explain herself bubbles up her throat. “It’s not you, either of you. It’s _me_ ,” she whispers, lowering her gaze as shame fills her chest. “How can I even think about moving in with you two if I can’t even tell Steve I love him?”

Realization fills James’s eyes. “Darcy,” he whispers, sounding hushed and regretful. “Darlin’, _no_ ,” he emphasizes, cupping her face with gentle hands. “That’s _not_ a requirement for you to move in with us.”

“It is for _me_ ,” she tells him, tearing up as she realizes how selfish that actually is. How selfish _she_ is. “I can’t— Sometimes, I can barely look Steve in the eye because I know it must hurt when I don’t say it back—”

“You’re so wrong,” James interrupts her quietly, and she loses the fight against her tears when he tugs her into a warm embrace, his hands sliding down to wrap around her back and actually pulling her off her seat. “C’mere,” he says needlessly, already lifting her into his lap and turning to take the seat he’d just removed her from. She squirms almost automatically, used to the position when they’re naked and fucking, but right now, her crotch is too far from his, and all this does is make him grip her hips again so that she won’t scoot forward and turn this into something else.

Christ, he’s right, she _does_ have a thing for changing the topic, doesn’t she? Even crying and feeling like a failure, she can’t help but try.

“Darcy, listen to me,” he says as she moves her hands, sliding them under his arms so she can hug him and press her face to the side of his neck, unconsciously trying to hide away from it all. “Sweetheart, it doesn’t hurt him when you don’t say it back because he _knows_ you love him. Yes, it’s important that you can’t tell him, but not… not in a bad way. It just means you’re not ready to say it to him, and that’s _okay_ —”

“But I _want to_ ,” she whispers harshly, her breath coming out ragged, the admission sending a pang through her already knotted insides. “I want to. I love him, I do, and I don’t know why I can say it to everyone else but _him_. I can tell _you_ ,” she points out tearfully. “God, I’ve even told _Thor_. It’s not fair that the two of you got to hear it from me before _he_ could. Am I gonna end up telling everyone else before I can finally tell Steve I love him?”

“Darcy…” James murmurs, turning his head and bringing his hand up over the middle of her back. “Darlin’, I think you just did.”

For a moment, she doesn’t understand what he means.

And then she hears the barely-audible sound of footsteps coming up behind her.

She stiffens, terror filling her suddenly, and she doesn’t know what to do but listen as something rattles as it’s placed on the table (plates? A tray with a pla—? A breakfast tray? They made her breakfast?) and something almost hollow but with a sloshing sound (glass? Her glass of orange juice?) is moved aside. And then, hands freed of their burden, Steve slides his palms down her arms and leans in to kiss her shoulder, the lingering press of his lips emitting so much reverence, Darcy feels her breath catch for a whole other kind of fear. (Fear that she’d never be worthy of how much he clearly loves her.)

“Darcy, look at me,” he says softly, but she can’t bring herself to lift her head away from the safety of James’s neck. “Sweetheart…” He trails off before trying again. “I know you love me,” he tells her softly. “I told you that before, didn’t I? When I first told you I love you, you tried to say it back to me. I’ve known since then that you want to say the words to me, and honey, you have no idea how happy that makes me. I don’t mind that you can’t say it to me now, because one day, you will. I know you will, because I believe in you, and I believe that you will love me just as much, if not more, on that day as you do now.”

She shudders and digs her nails into James’s back, his words—his _sincerity_ —making her nostrils burn as the water in her eyes double and spill over and her heart swells up into her throat.

“And when that day comes, I’ll love you the same way you do me, and so will Bucky, and what we _will_ have? Darcy, it’ll be just as amazing as what we have now, because nothing will have changed. You’ll just be telling me something I already know.”

“Why’re _you_ so nice to me,” she mumbles, but her attempt at humor falls a little short thanks to the tremble in her voice.

“Because,” he replies gently, “I love you.” She sucks in a stammering breath and lets go of Bucky’s metal shoulder to reach up, and is immediately rewarded with Steve wrapping his fingers around her wrist and bringing her palm up for a kiss. “And you love me too,” he says before she can even attempt to give it another go. “I know.” She hears his smile in his next words. “I heard.”

She starts crying in earnest, her guilt only doubling over the fact that he knows, somehow, that she still can’t say it, even though most people should’ve been able to get over this same hang up after that amazing pep talk and realizing the reason for their hesitation was already half-soothed. Hearing her sobs, Steve turns the chair a little—or maybe James turns it, though it doesn’t feel that way—so he can plaster himself to Darcy’s back, even though it must be awkward for him to lean down like that.

“It’s okay,” James says soothingly, rubbing his warmer hand over her back. “You’re okay, doll. You’re gonna be just fine.”

She doesn’t believe him, not just yet anyway, but…

(But maybe soon, she will.)

*

They grab the breakfast tray and take it _and_ their girl back to bed. Not to have sex, but… He tells her it’s so they can be _together_ , and that’s actually the biggest factor for it. He doesn’t want to leave her alone right now, doesn’t want to let her out of his arms, doesn’t want to put any kind of distance between them, and them staying in the lab would mean doing all of that. But he also takes her away because he doesn’t want Jane to see her like this, raw and red-eyed and vulnerable. Steve wants to protect her from everything that could hurt her, and Jane, despite her good intentions, is a constant source of stress for Darcy. He doesn’t want her exposed to that kind of pressure at all, much less immediately after the emotional confrontation they just had.

So yes, up to bed it was, and he ignores the pointed staring Bucky is sending him over the breakfast tray in his arms, ignores the fact that he’s a big, fat hypocrite. Or, no, not a hypocrite, but a liar, because hadn’t he been agonizing over why she couldn’t say she loves him just _yesterday?_ And yes, he’d meant it when he said he loves her and will love her for so long as he lives, and he’s _thrilled_ to have confirmation that she shares not just his feelings, but his hope that she’ll one day tell him those three amazing words too. He’d nearly dropped the tray he’d been holding when he overheard her say it, and his hands had been shaking before he steeled himself and touched her.

But despite that, there’s still a part of him that fears that she’ll never say it back to him, that she’d change her mind about him, never trust him because he left her once already. And it hadn’t helped was that she’d clearly been _terrified_ when she realized he had overheard her say it, as if him hearing her admit she loves him is the most horrifying thing in the world.

He can understand not wanting to say it to him because she didn’t feel it, but from what he’d overheard, she _does_ want to tell him, and neither does she know why she feels she can’t say it to him face to face. Is it for the same reason he’s afraid she doesn’t say it—her thinking she couldn’t trust him to stay with her this time around—and she simply hasn’t realized that that’s why she feels she can’t love him back? Or was it for another reason altogether, one that he isn’t aware of and she hasn’t figured out either? Or maybe she _has_ figured this latter possibility out and simply doesn’t want to admit to it?

Whatever it is though, one thing is clear: she still can’t tell him to his face that she does loves him, and that speaks volumes too.

Steve doesn’t expect her to pull him into a kiss as soon as they’re past the doorway, but he kisses back anyway and lets her back him into the wall so Bucky can pass them by and set the tray down on the nightstand, Darcy kicking the door shut once their lover is clear out of its path. She also surprises him by not going for his clothes at once, which, in retrospect, has always been her second move when they’re in a bedroom. Instead, she grips his shirt in her fist and slides her other hand up to cup the back of his neck, nails scratching lightly over his skin and sending itchy-satisfying pleasure and goose bumps skittering down his spine.

They kiss for… he doesn’t know how long, really, loses track of time, the two of them simply making out against his bedroom wall, him breathing through his nose and her doing the same, their rhythm and tempo perfectly synchronized. Her hands eventually go wandering, nails scratching over his body gently and unhurriedly, and his own hands start to wander too, but never groping, not now, and he realizes, at one point, that they’d never really done this before. Made out. Everything was always so hurried, almost always leading to sex, and it’s impossibly _saddening_ now that he realizes that, realizes that they’ve never taken the time to just… just _kiss_. No teeth, no tongue, nothing overtly sexual, just lips on lips and warm breath rolling across cheeks and hands caressing tenderly over fabric-covered bodies.

This, he quickly discovers, is a really, really nice way to pass the time. It’s relaxing, _soothing_ , and it’s not until later that he’ll realize that this simple intimacy has managed to chase away the sadness that’s been lodged in his throat since they got on the elevator and he realized he wasn’t as pleased with this new progress in their relationship as he’d thought. (Because there had been no progress, had there? Just a different verse of the same song again.)

When they surface, it’s slow and gradual, and when they stop, Steve finds himself not wanting to, and has to stop himself from taking more than what she’s already offered. It doesn’t help that when he opens his eyes, he finds Darcy staring up at him with a dazed expression and red cheeks and red, swollen lips, her eyes locked on his lips like she wants to go back for more.

Movement out of the corner of his sightline makes his head snap up, making Darcy startle and turn around too, and good God, he can’t believe he forgot that Bucky’s there with them! Guilt suffuses him, and Bucky seems to see that, because he raises his eyebrow at first him, then Darcy, and says, “Don’t you two dare. That was beautiful. Gorgeous, the two of you, I swear.” He smiles at them and slinks forward, pressing a kiss to first Darcy’s, then Steve’s lips. “Nothin’ in the world I love more than seein’ you together,” he murmurs, pulling them into his arms. “Except, y’know, the three of us together.”

Steve cracks a smile as Darcy breathes a small laugh and hugs him back. “I— I love the three of us together too,” she says tentatively, and then hunches her shoulders slightly, like she’s afraid she’d said the wrong thing.

It wasn’t. God, far from it, and his heart lifts and sinks at the same time at her obvious insecurity. A vague sense of realization fills him, incomplete and indefinable, but he can at least tell that it’s this insecurity that makes her hesitate to commit to them.

It’s a frustrating concept to know. Why does she feel that way? Doesn’t she love them—? No. No, that’s not it. If he’s learned something today, if not any other day before this, it’s that Darcy _does_ love them—hell, she just said so, hadn’t she?

So _why?_ Why does she hesitate? What can he do to convince her that it’s okay, that they want her just as much as she wants them? She doesn’t want them to announce it to the world, doesn’t want to even tell their friends, so _how?_

“Good,” he hears Bucky say, his tone quiet and firm, hand sliding down her back to squeeze her hip. “‘Cause you’re ours now, Darcy Lewis, and we’re yours. ‘Til you stop wanting us.”

Darcy looks up at Bucky and gives him a watery smile. “Said it before, haven’t I?” she says softly. “That’s never gonna happen.”

Steve remembers it suddenly, remembers their conversation just a week ago, after Darcy let slip mid-sex that she thought she needed to ‘be good’ so that they wouldn’t ‘make her go away’—an idea that had made him sick once he puts that idea together with the amazing meal she’d whipped up on her own for their first date. It kills him that she still feels like she’s expendable, like she’s just a phase they’re trying out, because she _isn’t_. They _love_ her, are tumbling head over heels and falling ever-deeper in love with her, and if there was only a way for them to share with her exactly how they feel for her, he knows that would be it, knows she would never question their resolve or feel like she’s going to be left behind.

They won’t _ever_ leave her behind.

“That’s settled then,” Steve tells her softly, smiling and blinking back tears of happiness, releasing her hip to brush her hair back behind her ear. “We’re yours and you’re ours. No take backs.”

Darcy suddenly starts crying before either he or Bucky can react, and Steve goes stiff, eyes wide, panic flooding him as his mind leaps to the worst scenario logically possible and _shit_ , was that not what she wanted to hear? Had he read the situation wrong? _Fuck_ , he shouldn’t have opened is goddamned mouth!

Lucky for him, Bucky’s right there to pick up his slack, picking her up and carrying her to bed, jerking his head pointedly at Steve so that he’d follow them in and keep her sandwiched between them. “S’okay, darlin’, Steve and I’re gonna be right here, okay? We’re always gonna be here for you, sweetheart. Always,” Bucky assures her as they crowd into her carefully, Steve raising his right hand to brush down her hair as she presses close to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly between sobs. “I keep crying.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky tells her gently, tentatively sliding his left hand over her arm and relaxing when she takes it under her own, tucking his knuckles under her chin against Steve’s chest. “You cry all you want, doll. We don’t mind. This is a safe place for you,” Bucky adds. “This is a place you can come to if the world feels too hard to face. And I don’t mean the room, doll, I mean me and Steve. You can cry on us whenever you want.”

“I love you,” she whispers, sniffling, and before Steve can finish being bitter about the words he thinks aren’t for him, she adds, “Bo-both of you.”

He holds onto her tighter before he can catch himself, that dangerous, stupid hope filling every corner of him again.

“There you go,” Bucky says, pride oozing from every syllable and fueling Steve’s own emotions. “Look at that, sweetheart. Found a way to tell him after all.”

Darcy sucks in a wet breath and shakes her head a little. “Doesn’t— Doesn’t _count_. I want…”

Yeah. Yeah, him too.

“You’ll get there,” Steve tells her softly. “I know you will.” No, he doesn’t, but his hopes have been stirred again, and hope has always been an easy, tempting thing to embrace, regardless of the possibility or probability involved. “But… I wouldn’t mind if you say it like that for a while.” He’s careful to _not_ phrase that as a question, realizing at the last second that it would make him sound like a dog begging for scraps under the table.

Which, technically, is what he just did, begging her to occasionally give him even the tiniest hint that she does love him as much as he loves her. That she doesn’t hate him for leaving her. For fucking them up before they had the chance to start this, to start _them_. For choosing Bucky over her. For not telling her that he’s in love with her until Bucky pointed it out to her. For being responsible for the metaphorical guillotine hovering over them, ready to chop their relationship apart forever.

For all the other things he’s done that’s caused her pain and made it seem like he doesn’t appreciate and love her.

Because it seems like no matter what he does, he can never seem to earn true absolution for his sins against her.

“I— yes,” she says, but she sounds unsure about it too. “I— I’ll try. Steve, I’ll try, I promise.”

“I know,” he replies, because it’s true. He knows she’ll try; she’s been trying for a while now. It gives him hope and kills him at the same time. “I love you, Darcy. Just remember that, okay?”

“Steve…” she murmurs, pressing closer to him, and then pull back and pushes up, her leg moving over his belly to straddle him, her left hand cupping his cheek as she presses her lips to his gently. He breathes in and cups the back of her head with one hand, buries his fingers in her hair and resists the urge to roll them over, lose himself in her body, take her again and again until the tight, heavy ache in his chest goes away. “Steve,” she says again, moving back a little to look at him, her watery eyes watching him and betraying the fact that she’s thinking furiously, her lips moving slightly, not enough for him to read what she’s trying to say, but enough to let him know she’s trying out words, trying to figure out how to say what she wants to say.

Adrenaline surges through him again, and a part of him wants to stop her, points out that he’s had his heartstrings tugged at too many times within the past hour already, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take before… before _something_ happens. He doesn’t quite know what that something is yet, but he can feel it like a knife pressed up against his chest, ready to cut through him once he reaches his limit. But then another part of him wants— no, _needs_ to know what she wants to tell him, what she ends up saying to him. _What if this is it?_ his traitorous mind says, giving him hope once more. _What if she can do it this time?_

She doesn’t though. Or can’t. The words he longs to hear the most aren’t what come out of her mouth, but what she _does_ say is almost as good, makes his breath catch in his lungs and his heart jump into his throat, makes him feel like the world goes topsy-turvy for a few long moments.

“I can’t see a future for me without you,” he almost doesn’t hear her say through the blood rushing in his ears, but the twin tears that fall from her eyes catch his attention, allow him to see her lips moving, and her words register in his mind a moment later. “I want—” She pauses, anxiety etched all over her face. “I don’t let myself think about it,” she confesses softly, cringing a little and pointedly _not_ looking at him or Bucky. “My future. I can’t imagine being—” She shakes her head, wiping a hand over her face and pressing her knuckle to her top lip, her hand trembling a little.

Bucky shifts and sits up, moving closer and placing his left hand on her leg, just above where Steve’s own left hand is resting on her thigh. “Darcy,” he says, his voice so soft Steve could almost miss it. “Darling, you shouldn’t think—”

“But when I do,” she continues quietly, her hand falling on his forearm, silencing his next words. “But when I do, all I can see is me waking up here in bed with you two and… I can’t imagine what I do for a living,” she adds in that same low tone, “what my life would be like, but I can imagine you two in my life. I can imagine… I can imagine coming home to you. I _want_ to come home to you,” she amends with another shake of her head. “I want dinners where we’d talk about our day and make plans to see a movie or try a restaurant or go shopping. I want us to have quiet nights in and crazy nights out. I wanna go on vacations and take pictures and… and make more memories with you both. I want everything with you two,” she tells them tearfully, looking between him and Bucky. “My future isn’t worth anything if neither of you will be there.”

Bucky, already sitting up, gets to her first, his right hand sliding around to cup her nape and pull her into a kiss. Steve follows once his soulmate lets her go, cupping her face with both hands and kissing her as Bucky whispers, “Two peas in a pod, doll,” and Darcy moans a small laugh against his lips. “Maybe three.”

Steve is quick to catch on and hums, parts from her to nod and agree. “Definitely three,” he murmurs, and only realizes that he’s crying when she lifts her hand to wipe under his eyes and over his temples, the wetness thinning over his skin. When she does the same for Bucky, Steve sees that his soulmate looks like he’d done just a little bit better, managing to hold onto most of his tears save for that one stray drop, the water in his eyes thick, the tip of his nose red, and the look on his face an odd one, like he’s trying to wear several different expressions at once.

“We’re gonna ask you to marry us someday,” Bucky tells her, his blunt words a contrast to the quiet way he says them.

Steve only has a moment to feel panic over what her reaction might be, because Darcy’s body suddenly loses all the tension in it, and the small laugh that leaves her lips doesn’t match the sorrow in her eyes.

“We’d never be legally allowed,” Darcy reminds him, fresh tears falling from her eyes again. “But I would if we were,” she adds, and Steve nearly chokes on his next breath.

“You would?” he asks, the hope in his chest bordering on agony now and this, _this is his limit_. He doesn’t think he could take it if— if she says—

Darcy’s sad little smile widens, and she leans back in to kiss him chastely. “Yes,” she murmurs against his lips, and he can tell with just that one word that she honestly wants to do it, but that she also honestly doesn’t think it’ll happen. His heart swells and aches at the same time, feels like it had expanded so wide, there was no room for air in his lungs at all.

 _Marry us_ , he wants to say, goes dizzy with the desire to ask her _now_ , and only Darcy pressing her lips harder against his stops him from saying the words aloud. He doesn't—can’t—stop his hands from sliding down from her face to her hips, needing to quench his sudden, indomitable desire to be as close to her as physically possible, and wants to tell her that he’s going to do everything in his power to make this a reality—to make _marrying her and Bucky_ a reality. That he’s going to spend the rest of his life loving her and taking care of her and being there for her, that he’s never going to leave her again, that he’s going to tell her he loves her every single day—

(She starts unbuttoning his shirt, never letting up on the kiss, and Steve automatically shucks the shirt off once she’d gotten it undone.)

*

He can tell that Steve doesn’t pick up on it. If he had, then Steve wouldn’t be letting her take his clothes off and clawing her shirt off her body and mouthing at her neck, wouldn’t be making Darcy moan and rock her hips into his lap. But given that Darcy has just admitted to wanting to spend the rest of her life with them, he can’t blame his better half for missing it completely. He might’ve too, if her words hadn’t struck a familiar chord in his head and heart, if he hadn’t already had been in the same boat she was in right now, hadn’t already felt the same things she apparently does.

That’s the reason he came back to Steve, after all—he hadn’t been able to stand living without Steve anymore either—and for a moment, her words make him regret coming to the tower. He’d lived with that very feeling for seven days, from the moment he realized he wanted to come home to his soulmate to the moment he finally couldn’t bear to wait any longer and walked into the tower with his face and arm uncovered, sending the tower’s security into a frenzy as they tried to surround him without making it obvious to him and the civilians around him. Darcy, on the other hand, had to live with that feeling for seven _weeks_ , from the moment Steve broke things off with her to the moment he approached her in her bedroom, and had often had to _watch_ Steve be with someone who made him happy, someone who wasn’t her.

She’s far stronger than he’d given her credit for, because he doesn’t know if he could do that, could stand idly by and endure the pain of seeing Steve be happy with her. He can still remember how much hate he’d felt for Darcy when he learned of her relationship with Steve, and doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he’d come into the tower knowing Steve had settled on someone who isn’t him. (That’s a lie. He would’ve killed her and framed someone else for it and come back to Steve just in time to comfort him over this new loss, and he wouldn’t have felt bad about it at all.)

(Anything to get Steve back.)

(Thank god he never figured that out until after Steve had broken up with her to be with him again, until he was being monitored twenty-four/seven and was never given a chance to be alone with the girl, until he saw she wasn’t a real threat to his relationship with Steve, given that she avoided his soulmate like he had a contagious terminal illness she alone could catch.)

But even the strongest person has limits, and Darcy’s is apparently losing them.

The subject of Steve ( _and_ him) leaving her had come up a few times before already. The first time just nearly two weeks ago, after he said ‘good morning’ to her for the first time. The second time just hours after the first, after Steve figured that part out for himself and confronted her about it. The third time just a day after the second, when they had her between them in the kitchen, Darcy unwittingly confessing her desire to be perfect for them so they’d never leave her. Given that it’s only been over a week since the subject came to light, he’s not surprised that she still thinks that way, that they haven’t managed to ease her mind and erase that ugly notion in her head. (Doesn’t mean he has to like it.)

He didn’t need her to finish that sentence to pin down what she can’t imagine being. He doesn’t know if he can keep on living either, if he doesn’t have a life where he can’t have her and Steve to come home to.

God, they’re a mess, and Steve is little better, judging by how he’d gone from understanding and supportive to spiraling into a misery in the middle of comforting their girl. Because Steve is the most noble and self-sacrificing person he knows, so he has no doubt that his better half is beating himself up over his presumed faults and wrongdoings, when all he’d been doing, in truth and in the end, was the right thing—the _only_ thing—he could’ve done at the time, whatever that thing had been.

His and Darcy’s inside joke about them and Steve being peas in a pod had never been more suitable than in this moment.

The sudden motion of Darcy getting off of Steve to pull her pants down cuts into his thoughts, and he shuffles a little away to give his lovers room to wiggle free from their clothes, smiling a little when Steve’s shoes arc through the air and land on the floor, Darcy’s own footwear getting kicked off in much the same manner. He thinks about doing the same, but decides not to, knowing that he’ll have time to join them after this first bout. Right now, the two of them need to connect—need to _re_ connect—with each other, because between Darcy being able to tell only him that she loves him to his face and Steve having broken up with her once already to be with him instead, it’s clear to him that of the three of them, he’s the one who [ironically] isn’t feeling insecure about his place in their relationship.

 _Besides_ , he thinks as Darcy returns to her previous position and leans in again, he really does enjoy seeing them like this, together and in sync, love and lust palpable in every move they make. Darcy’s devotion is evident in the way she kisses Steve, and the tender, reverent way Steve slides his hands down her arms makes it clear that he cherishes her just as much. It’s beautiful that they can exchange their love in this wordless language, but also ridiculous that they can do this and then have such a hard time expressing themselves without fear when it’s time to speak up.

Briefly, he wonders what they were like before he came back and interrupted their previous relationship. Were they able to communicate better with each other? Or were they as verbally incompetent with each other as they are now, with him? Granted, he and Darcy hadn’t been much better before they talked it out, but perhaps that’s what she and Steve need then, some time alone to talk without him in the thick of things. The question, however, is if they would actually _talk_ if he isn’t there to mediate that conversation, or if they’d hide everything behind sex again. Steve holds back a lot when it comes to their girl, too afraid that what he’ll say will hurt her in anyway, and Darcy is exactly the same, so God knows neither of them are going to be honest about their fears.

God, it’s a never-ending cycle with them, isn’t it? How the hell is he going to break them of this habit?

“Shit,” Darcy whimpers, cutting into his thoughts again, and his eyes refocus to find Steve mouthing at her left breast, teeth tugging at her nipple while his thumb traces around her other nipple, never touching the hard bud begging for contact. He feels a rush of heat go through him at the sight, remembering how _maddening_ that feels whenever Steve does it to him, and his hand falls to his crotch to palm himself through his jeans, his dick aching so much that he _has_ to give himself a little relief. “Oh, god, Steve,” she whispers quietly, her body rocking forward, squirming, trying to get him to touch her properly, groaning in frustration when her bare pussy _doesn’t_ rub over the head of Steve’s cock in the process. “Baby, don’t tease, please, lemme have you.”

Steve shudders and gives in, drags that thumb over her nipple, and he knows it’s the ‘baby’ that does it. Steve isn’t one for pet names (even him calling Steve ‘punk’ is stretching it) but ‘baby’ seems to have gotten under his skin. He isn’t sure why yet—maybe it’s because that word is the only pet name Darcy uses—but he’ll find out eventually.

“You’ve got me,” Steve pants against her breast. “Always, sweetheart.”

Steve doesn’t see it, the top of his head level with Darcy’s chin and his eyes closed as he presses a kiss over her bra-covered nipple, but Darcy’s looks up at the ceiling with this _look_ on her face that’s so clearly different from the pleasured expression she’d been wearing, and he knows she’s thinking that it won’t be true, that she won’t always have them, that they’re going to leave her one day. That look is what makes him want to break his self-imposed silence, his desire to let them reconnect overridden by the sudden, frustrating need to _make her believe it_ , to make her believe that they wouldn’t leave her, that she’d _always_ have them.

Except, he doesn’t know what to _say_. He can reassure her of their devotion to her over and over again, but given that he’s already done that before, he’s pretty sure words aren’t going to cut it, he doesn’t think she’d believe him anymore than the last few times he’d said it, not when it comes to this anyway.

He watches her press her cheek against the top of Steve’s head, hiding her face from their view, and— just—

He’s just as startled as Steve is when she suddenly reaches down and angles his dick up to her cunt, Darcy swearing breathily as she nudges it against her clit. “Darce, fuck!” Steve gasps, pupils dilating as he glances down at her body. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.”

Darcy gives a little laugh, her melancholic look disappearing from her face as she smiles down at Steve a little knowingly. “S’what you do to me,” she tells him, and Steve moans again, eyes falling shut at the thought, goose bumps briefly rising over the skin of his nape.

And then he shudders again and jerks back, his right hand sliding off her back to cover the hand she has on his cock. “God, not— not yet,” Steve stammers, making him realize that Darcy had been sinking herself lower onto Steve’s dick already, without letting herself be prepared to take him first, _Christ_. “Let me— fuck, let me get you ready, sweetheart,” Steve stammers, and with a shift of his arm, he slides his hand between his dick and her pussy instead, muscles flexing as he slips his fingers into her.

“ _More_ ,” Darcy murmurs in a low voice against that section of sensitive skin, nearly purring the word into Steve’s ear.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, looking and sounding dazed for a moment. “Yeah, okay,” he adds, shaking his head a little before moving his hands to her hips—much to Darcy’s brief chagrin.

He hasn’t moved again, hadn’t dared to distract them and call attention to himself, but it’s a testament to his lovers’ awareness of him that they don’t forget he’s still there. When Steve suddenly turns them over, turns Darcy into his arms, she easily tilts her head to him and kisses his jaw, as if they do this sort of move all the time, and the act _warms_ him, puts a small smile on his face as Steve cups his cheek and kisses him, conveying _I love you_ without saying a word.

 _You’re both so beautiful_ , he wants to say when Steve pulls back moments later, but again, this is their time, no matter that he’s suddenly in the thick of it. So he keeps quiet instead, his only concessions to his inclusion being the way he shifts so that he’s propped up against the headboard, the hands he places on Darcy’s arms, the kisses Darcy turns her head to him for, and later, the irrepressible urge to rub his still-covered groin against Steve’s balls as his better half takes her against him.

(Everything on the breakfast tray is cold by the time they get to it, but none of them mind in the slightest.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression and Suicidal intentions: okay look, with all the shit Steve and Bucky have gone through, I personally find it impossible that they can bounce back from that without an instance of 'God, what am I still doing here? Why am I still alive? What could I possibly have to live for now?' In the end, Bucky would at least have vengeance and Steve to live for, if nothing else, and Steve would've only had Peggy to keep him going at first (since he believed Bucky was dead when he came out of the ice, right?). Now he has Bucky and Darcy to live for.
> 
> And Darcy, she's still really messed up, not letting herself get past what happened to her. She already knows how bad off she would be without Steve, and she imagines it'll be double that if she ever loses him _and_ Bucky. She is, basically, using them as a reason to keep going, not really living for herself at this point, which is seriously unhealthy, but until something happens to kick start her self-preservation instincts (hopefully allowing her to see that she doesn't want to die and that there's more to life than what she's living for right now), then she's going to stay on this path and think she can't make it without her boys.
> 
> Wow, that's SO morbid, Jesus, what the hell am I still writing this for, this is so fucking sad.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issues. So many. And a surprise from Jane. But uh, not really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I'm sorry for the long wait. Please know that I'm not going to give up on this story until it's finished and I'm happy with it. That said, it might take me a while to find inspiration for the next chapter. In fact, I wasn't very inspired to continue this chapter either, but I needed something to do to take my mind off things. I'm sorry if the chapter suffers for it, and I hopefully will be able to add/expound more in subsequent chapters. For those who want to know what happened, please see the notes after the story.
> 
> Trigger warnings for: emotional breakdown, and panic attack. I tried to curb both to keep it from being very trigger-y, but there's only so much I can do to keep this steady and still retain the emotional aspect of it all. I think that's also one of the reasons why the chapter's quality--particularly that of Steve's POV--suffered a little, and I apologize for it.
> 
> That said, I hope you can enjoy this chapter, even just a little.

The feeling of lips being pressed to his jaw is what wakes him, and for a moment, he doesn’t quite remember where he is or what day it is, but still knows deep in his bones that he’s _safe_. It’s one of the best feelings he can ever remember having. And then it gets better, because then he _does_ remember where he is and what day it is and what had happened before he fell asleep, and he feels warm and light—chest swelling with an almost-unbearable amount of affection—at the realization that the kiss had come from Darcy.

She doesn’t give him the chance to reciprocate, unfortunately, because she’d already been up and off the bed when she kissed him, and is now retreating—fully-dressed, he sees when he opens his eyes—to the bedroom door, clearly intending to sneak away. He lets her, puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and shakes his head to keep Steve quiet, and they both pretend to continue sleeping when she starts to turn around to look at them.

“I love you both,” she says quietly before disappearing out the door, and Steve lets loose a trembling breath, his body going tense with a clear desire to chase her and say the words back. For that matter, so does he.

“She loves me,” Steve murmurs, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it.

“Yeah,” he replies, helpless against the smile that appears on his face and the warmth that blossoms in his chest. “She does.”

Steve starts shaking, and for a moment, he thinks Steve’s about to laugh, about to express delight over finally receiving confirmation of the things he’s been saying for weeks now. Of course, all the warm happiness he feels is abruptly ripped apart by the sob that gets torn from Steve’s throat.

“Steve,” he says, shocked, but a moment later, he _gets it_. “Steve… Steve, it’s okay,” he tells his better half, holding him tightly and pressing a kiss to his beloved’s forehead. “It’s okay. You can cry, sweetheart. It’s okay to do that,” he encourages when Steve tries to keep holding it all back. “You’re safe with me.”

“Buck,” Steve gasps, and another sob escapes him. “I’m sor— sorry, I don’t— I’m not— M’just— I’m _happy_.”

He bites his lip—bites his _tongue_ —because he knows damn well that Steve isn’t reacting like this because he’s happy. Or rather, Steve _is_ happy (how can he not be, after what Darcy just said?) but that’s not why he’s near tears either. No, Steve’s like this because he’s feeling _guilty_ , because he feels like he doesn’t _deserve_ to be happy, but wants and relishes it anyway.

He understands that, had felt the same way back when he first got Steve back, and it was only by talking to Sam that he’d been able to make sense of why he felt so bad about being with Steve again. With Sam’s help, he’d been able to get through enough of his personal issues to eventually realize that he wasn’t the only one feeling guilty for things that had been out of his control anyway. Steve, however, feels thrice the amount of guilt when he believes he’s personally responsible for anything bad that happens, and this thing with Darcy is definitely one such example.

He wishes Steve would agree to talk to someone, honestly thinks that Steve could do with a good, long, truthful talk with someone to sort his feelings out and make sense of them, the way Sam’s been doing for him. But the secrecy of their relationship with Darcy aside, he also understands that Steve’s got a good reason for avoiding shrinks too, since the first shrink Steve agreed to see got caught compiling a book about Steve’s mental health issues (which had only made Steve clam up even more), and the second one turned out to be reporting to HYDRA (which is one of the main reasons why they’d agreed on Sam to be his head doctor instead of using an actual licensed professional).

(Of course, he’d only learned of Steve’s motivations for choosing Sam for this _months_ after they’d all agreed to it. It was one of the few things they’d truly fought over, and the only reason he’d forgiven Steve at the time was because he’d been more terrified of losing his soulmate to Darcy than angry over Steve’s hypocrisy.)

Which narrows down the list of people Steve would trust enough to bare his soul to down to him, at the very least. Like he said to Darcy, he’d be a terrible therapist, so he’s so very much _not_ the person whom Steve should talk to about his issues. And yet, he knows that he’s the only one Steve _will_ be comfortable enough with to open up to.

And so, he grabs the figurative bull by its metaphorical horns and says, “Are you really?”

Steve swallows heavily and nods, his stubbornness rearing its head. “So much,” he replies, in a voice that doesn’t make a good show of convincing him it’s the truth.

“Steve,” he says softly, dragging a hand up his soulmate’s bare arm before cupping the back of his neck and pressing a kiss to his forehead, “talk to me, baby, please?” It’s cheating, because that’s Darcy’s pet name for him—for _them_ —and Steve has never been able to refuse him when he says ‘please’. But it’s a risk too, because what if Steve won’t like him using that pet name, and what if Steve won’t like him using that bit of weakness against him?

But it doesn’t seem to matter anyway, because Steve merely shakes his head before pressing his face to the side of his neck. “M’okay,” Steve replies, much to his frustration. “It’s fine.”

“If you bottle this up inside, you’ll explode when you least expect it,” he says, half-quoting Sam, who’d used a volcano metaphor on him back when he thought revealing his weaknesses—even to a trusted ally—would be a giant mistake that would eventually help get him killed. “I love you too much to let you do that to yourself.” Steve breathes a surprised laugh, because _that_ one had been a direct quote from the man in his arms. It had been the sentence that softened him to the idea of opening up to Sam, and he hopes it would inspire Steve to confide in him too.

“I love you too,” Steve murmurs, his tone dropping from pleased to morose in the space of those four words. “I just… I don’t wanna be a burden. Not to you—”

“I have and will _never_ think of you as a burden to me, Steven Grant!” he says firmly, so abruptly angry that he almost snaps the words at his self-sacrificing punk of a soulmate. “I ought’a knock your damn teeth out for even thinkin’ it!”

“You’re already dealing with a lot,” Steve insists, sniffling and wiping at his eyes roughly. “You don’t need my problems on top of it.”

And there it is, the hypocrisy his soulmate can’t help but shoulder in his quest to be the man Steve thinks he and Darcy need him to be. He suppresses his initial reaction, which is to cuff Steve over the head and snap at him for being a dumbass; instead, he brings his hand up and cups Steve’s cheek. “Of course I do,” he says gently. “I need your problems, Steve. I need your everything. S’how I know you need me too.”

Steve sucks in a sharp, shaky breath and bows his head, his pain suddenly visible in the lines of his body. “Buck,” Steve chokes out, and then presses closer to him. “I do need you. I do. I couldn’t— I didn’t know how— Not without you—” With a hitch in his next breath, Steve keens and finally breaks down, finally starts to cry. “Please,” Steve gasps, clinging to him tightly, short nails digging into his skin, as if afraid that he’d lose him if he lets go. “I’m sorry! Bucky, I’m sorry!”

He holds onto his soulmate just as tightly, trying to reassure Steve that yes, he’s here, and no, he’s not going anywhere. Not anymore.

(Not without Steve.)

*

She _swears_ she’d left their room with every intention of going back to work, but the moment she steps into the elevator, she realizes she hadn’t showered yet and finds herself asking JARVIS to take her to her floor. And then she just… didn’t leave, not even after she’d dried and dressed herself.

She’ll realize later that this strange state of calm emptiness is because she’d been in shock. It seemed so sudden— no, it _is_ so sudden. Never mind that it’s been nearly a year since she and Steve first hooked up, that it’s been four months since she started sleeping with him and James, because it’s barely been a week since they went on their first date. Hell, it’s barely been a day since they spoke about her moving in with them, and now she’s admitted that she’d be happy to be married to them.

And, now that she thinks about it again, she _would be_. Happy to be married to them, she means. Given the givens, she hadn’t given it any serious thought before—hadn’t even let herself really contemplate it, actually—but she won’t deny that she’s always pleased and glad to be with them, always feels better when they’re around. They’re good to her, they’re _so_ good to her, and she knows that if she’s ever given it, she’d leap at a chance for a real committed relationship with them without the slightest bit of hesitation.

But as she mentioned, her getting that kind of chance with them is an impossible dream. Because she knows what this will look like; she wouldn’t be the first or the last woman in the history of the world to join a pair of soulbonded men after all. Lots of women have done it before, still do it now and _will_ do it for years to come.

But to do it in _modern America?_

God, that would be… that would be a _disaster_. Because in the good ol’ U-S-of-A, a pair of soulbonded men or women will only risk opening their relationship to include another if they wanted kids who were biologically theirs, and wanted their children to grow up with all their biological parents. It’s too soon to rock the boat again, hasn’t been all that long since America and the European countries started legalizing same-sex marriage, and legalization of polyamory was probably still decades away, no matter that there were probably millions of people currently engaged in polyamorous relationships _now_. So unless Steve or Barnes wanted to have kids _soon_ , then this whole ‘we want to be with you too’ thing _will not make sense_ to _anyone_.

And that’s important, it _is_ , because Steve is Captain America and the country looks to him as a role model. And Darcy knows enough about role models to know that they’re only beloved to all if they hold up to a certain standard. And when they don’t, they’ll fall from the grace of the public.

And Captain America—leader of the Avengers, symbol of courage to the nation, hero to the world— _cannot_ fall from grace.

Not because of Darcy Lewis.

And that’s just one side (the public side, the professional side) of the argument. There’s still the private side, the one that affects their lives and relationships.

She can’t speak for Steve and James, but _she_ knows that the others who aren’t already in the know will feel betrayed. Tony, in particular, will probably be aghast that the very people he’s been looking for on her behalf has been living right under his nose all along, sneaking around and ‘damaging’ her right inside his home.

And Jane, dear god, she already knows what Jane will say once she learns about all this. She’ll say that Darcy _can’t_ possibly want this kind of relationship—can’t possibly want Steve _and_ James together—because only _certain_ women fall into a relationship with soulbonded men and Darcy is already both well-provided for and too young to have kids of her own. (Okay, so maybe she’s not _too young_ , given that a good number of Darcy’s classmates have already started on that chapter of their lives.)

And then Jane will point out that even if Darcy _does_ want kids, does she really want to have the child of a _superhero?_ (Never mind that Jane herself is dating _Thor_ , of course, who is not only a superhero, but an actual _alien_ _prince_ , who was once revered as a god by the early Norsemen. Not to mention the fact that Thor is also the heir to the throne of an entire once-mythical kingdom, and, you know, also has the ability to control lightning.) And, failing that, Jane will point out the issues Darcy still refuses to face up to, will point out that she’s not in the right mindset to even _think_ of having kids, least of all actually _having_ them.

And honestly? Darcy _agrees_ with all of that. Kids are so _not_ something she’s willing to deal with right now (hence the three-year contraceptive implant that’s taking up residence in her left arm), so those kinds of argument will be met with a solid nod and a bucket load of approvals, because those arguments would be _right_. Darcy _is_ too young and she _is_ too reckless to be a parent, and shit, but she’s not the only one with issues—both Steve and James are lugging their own baggage around too.

So the whole ‘wants to have kids’ angle? No sweat, Jane, she’s not jonesing for a bun in her oven, thank you very much.

Of course, it’s the talk that comes _after_ she convinces Jane of the ‘no kids’ thing that Darcy worries about. Because if not to have kids of their own, then why would Steve and James want to have a relationship with _her?_

Jane will hone in on that subject. She will worry that thread and gnaw that bone and never let go until Darcy admits the truth, that she’s been sleeping with them this whole time, that it was the two of them that had been leaving bruises on her, that the ‘culprit’ she and the others not in the know have been looking for were right there all along, right under their noses. And then Jane will condemn them, will make a ruckus, and Tony will kick either her or them out, and—

And all of it will be her fault. Her fault, because she couldn’t keep her hands off a marked man.

Her fault, because she’s the one who kept Steve from straightening things out with the others back when they first saw the bruises on her body.

 _God_.

If she could turn back time… If she could do it all over again…

…but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t—doesn’t—want to change a thing, not now that she knows what it’s like to be with them both. She _loves_ James and she _loves_ Steve and even the mere idea of living a life without what she has with them now leaves her breathless in the most horrible way possible.

Literally breathless. Literally, as in oh god she can’t _breathe_ …

“Miss Lewis,” she hears from a distance as she starts to hyperventilate, “I am calling for assistance. Help with be with you very soon.” The cadence of the voice is a familiar one, but for the life of her, she can’t remember who's talking, who's in the room with her, can’t think past the tightness in her throat and chest, can’t do anything but feel and fear and despair and panic because she can’t breathe, can’t catch her breath, can’t feel her lungs, god, please no, too tight, too much, god, she needs to breathe! She needs to breathe or else she’s gonna die, oh _god I _’m_  gonna die,_ I'mgonnadie _,_ _I’mgonnadieohgodI’mgonnadie_ —

Her world starts to spin, her body caught in the sensation of falling, and a fresh wave of fear floods her as darkness starts to creep into her eyes. The last thing she sees is Bruce, but that doesn’t make sense, why is Bruce in her room—?

(Bruce catches her as she slumps sideways onto her mattress, carefully following her motion so he doesn’t break the needle he’d pressed past her flesh.)

*

It takes Steve a while to stop blubbering all over Bucky, to stop babbling apologies and listing all the ways he’s failed his soulmate, all the ways he’s failed since he failed to catch Bucky. He’d failed to jump after him, failed to stop HYDRA, failed to save Bucky from HYDRA, failed, failed, failed everything he shouldn’t have failed at.

And now, he’d failed to foresee this.

“What happened?” he asks as soon as he catches sight of Bruce. He’d already been crying, already been so ripped apart, so he’s near tears and shaking when he crosses the threshold of the medical area, so much so that he doesn’t even really notice Jane’s presence until it’s too late, until he’s already at Darcy’s side and has her left hand in both of his, pressing her knuckles to his lips.

“It was a panic attack,” Bruce says softly, the sound of paper being flipped accompanying his words. “She’s fine now, but I had to sedate her to keep her from hurting herself or risk her going into catatonia again.”

He goes quiet at the report, feels despondency add to the negativity already swirling inside him, because he immediately _knows_ that this, this is his fault too. He’d pushed her too much too soon, he knows that now, and he wishes that he’d just kept his mouth shut.

No. No, that’s not it. He wishes he’d never broken up with her. If he hadn’t, if he’d stayed with her, maybe the issues they have wouldn’t have been as big a deal as it is now. Maybe they’d be living together already, maybe they’d have shared the truth of their relationship with their friends, maybe her and Bucky’s relationship wouldn’t have taken so long to develop—

But then, maybe, if he and Darcy hadn’t broken up, then he and Bucky would’ve have gotten back together at all. Maybe what they have now would’ve been lost to him. Maybe his fear that Bucky would resent him for falling for Darcy would’ve come true.

God, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that this, _now_ , is a result of one of the many mistakes he’d made when it came to her, to _them_ , and he wishes desperately that he can fix it, that he’d be given the chance to make things right.

“Don’t,” Bucky suddenly tells him, his voice firm, right hand gripping his shoulder _hard_. “Don’t think like that, punk, don’t you dare.”

Steve sucks in a shuddering breath, too wrung out to care that he’s airing their problems out like this to people who shouldn’t have to see it. “This is my fault—”

“This is _not_ your fault,” Bucky snaps, turning him around enough so that Steve can face him. “Darcy has her own demons hunting her, Steve, and just like us, she’s not ready to share. That’s not on us, and it’s not on her either. This is no one’s fault.” His face spasms briefly, jaw clenching. “No one but HYDRA’s.”

Despite the enormous amount of grief and guilt coursing through him, Steve still feels the way his own lips curl into a snarl, and his already-deep hatred of HYDRA doubles even more as he turns his gaze back to the woman he loves, the woman now lying unconscious on the bed beside him.

“You’re right,” he says softly, not completely agreeing, but his soulmate has a point, has reminded him that HYDRA had touched her, just liked they’d touched Bucky, and these two facts—on top of everything HYDRA is guilty of—demand that he raze their organization to the ground and leave no survivors in his wake. There wouldn’t be a second chance for those people, not like last time.

He will cut off the head and make sure no other grows back in its place.

“Of course I am,” Bucky replies, his arrogant words tempered by the gentle way he says them, and the way he squeezes Steve’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Huh,” Jane speaks up, causing a shard of cold dread to lodge in Steve’s chest as he finally registers her presence and Bruce’s sudden absence. “Things suddenly make _so_ much sense now.”

 _Shit_. He opens his mouth to speak—though he isn’t quite sure what he’s going to say, honestly—and so does Bucky, but Jane cuts them off.

“I _knew_ something was up with the three of you,” the astrophysicist says, and it takes Steve a moment to realize that the look of stunned realization on her face wasn’t shifting to any form of anger, but to excited approval. “Bonding time with shield brothers, my ass!” she snorts, rolling her eyes a little, even as a fond smile appears on her face. “I suppose, if anyone’s going to treat her right, it’s you two.”

Steve nearly chokes on his own breath. “You— You _approve?”_ he asks, because that’s… Jane’s reaction is pretty anticlimactic, considering how wary Darcy had been about it.

Jane’s expression falls a little when her eyes land on him. “I— Yeah,” she replies in a less enthusiastic tone. “I do. I mean, even Erik has noticed that she’s been happier than ever since you two started trying to date her.”

Steve realizes that Jane has misunderstood the situation a second too late.

“You think she’ll ever say yes to us?” Bucky asks, his face adopting a hopeful expression that Steve can _feel_ is a mask.

Jane shrugs. “I don’t know,” she answers. “I hope so. You’ve been good to her.” She pauses and glances at Steve again. “Both of you have. I’m really grateful to you for that.”

He’s not entirely sure what to say to that—does he go along with the lie Bucky is perpetuating, or should he tell Jane the truth?—so he’s relieved that he’s spared the choice by Darcy’s fingers twitching in his as she tries to pull her hand away, slowly waking up from her medically-induced sleep.

“Darcy,” Jane says, abruptly brightening as she sees Darcy regain consciousness. She gives a small, happy laugh when Darcy raises her other hand towards her, and Steve feels a pang of guilt bubble up his chest as Jane takes the offered hand in hers and squeezes it in both of hers, a pleased and relieved look on her face. “Hiya stranger.”

An unexpected laugh escapes Darcy, whose eyes brighten in a way Steve has only seen a few times before. “Hiya back,” she greets back, and Jane’s happy smile matches Darcy’s perfectly. “What happened?”

That makes Jane’s happiness dim significantly. “You… had a moment,” comes the delicate reply.

“You had a panic attack,” Bucky expounds, earning himself a glare from Jane.

“Barnes!”

“Oh,” Darcy says at the same time, her own brightness fading, making Steve ache with the need to do something to bring it back. “Yeah, I remember.” Jane blinks at Darcy, looking surprised at how easily Darcy had accepted the news. Despite his own feelings and his reservations about Bucky’s typical bluntness with Darcy, Steve can’t help but feel proud of their girl, and half wants to look Jane in the eyes and say ‘See? Look how strong she can be!’ “Sorry I worried you guys,” she adds, her hand clenching around his and Jane’s again.

“Y’got nothin’ to be sorry about, doll,” Bucky says, perching on the edge of her bed and placing his left hand on her right knee, giving her a firm look. “Y’hear me?”

Darcy smiles a little, conveying sadness and pleasure and relief at the same time. “Okay,” she agrees easily, relaxing, and a flare of jealousy catches Steve, makes him wish he could inspire that kind of trust in her.

“So cute,” Jane coos, and Darcy gives a little jump, a look of anxiety flashing over her face for a quick moment. “Hey, no,” the other woman adds, frowning. “Darcy, it’s okay.” She gives Darcy a reassuring smile. “Them,” she jerks her head in his and Bucky’s direction, “I can totally approve of.”

Darcy gives a little coughing sound, looking shocked. “You— you can?” she asks, sounding just as surprised as Steve had been.

Jane shrugs. “If I can’t trust Captain America and Bucky Barnes to be good to you, who the hell can I trust?”

Steve barely holds back a wince, and so does Darcy. Bucky is the only one who takes the ironic statement in stride, giving a small laugh that draws Jane’s attention to him. “Thanks, doc,” Bucky says. “I promise, we’ll be real good to our girl here.”

“Good,” Jane says firmly, then pats the back of Darcy’s hand. “I’ll leave you three to it. Just… take it slow, all right?” she requests, glancing at him and Bucky. “Take care of her.”

“Promise,” Bucky says seriously, and Steve nods, not trusting his voice to give them away.

It’s only after Jane walks away that Darcy manages to find her words again. “What the—? What?” she sputters, looking between them, confused and wary and in shocked disbelief. “What just…? Did she just…?”

“Mm-hm,” Bucky hums, sliding his palm up her hip and waist until he can grasp Darcy’s now-free hand. “Though she thinks we’re still trying to date you, not that we’re already sleeping with you.”

Some of the panic rising in her eyes fades away, replaced by relief. “Oh,” she replies, breathing out heavily. “Okay.”

“Not really,” Bucky says before Steve can point out that going along with that story would clash with the one she’d given to Thor. What if he and Jane try to talk to each other about this? What will happen when Jane realizes they’ve lied to her? When _Thor_ realizes they’d lied to them? She’d told them why she was afraid of Thor’s reaction, but he doesn’t know what reaction she’s afraid Jane will have outside of disapproving of him and Bucky and siccing Thor on them. “She’s gonna talk to Thor about this eventually,” Bucky points out. “The stories they know need to match.”

Darcy grimaces, but she doesn’t look as upset as she had moments ago. “I know. I’ll… I’ll talk to her. Soon. I promise,” she says, looking between them.

“It’s not for us, darlin’,” Bucky tells her, shaking his head a little. “It’s for you.”

She gives them a small, shy smile and tugs first Bucky, then Steve, closer for a kiss, one that they both happily lean in to receive. “Thank you,” she murmurs against Steve’s lips.

He doesn’t deserve the credit, not one bit, but— “You’re always welcome,” he replies anyway, and leans in to kiss her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if the chapter sucked. I'm just so terribly depressed right now. Sunday, my dog, my baby, was euthanized yesterday, August 30, 2015. She had Ascites, fluid buildup in the abdomen, and suffered 3 seizures during the night she spent at the clinic. I started writing everything here on this notes section, but it got really long and I didn't want it to eclipse the chapter, so I posted it as an original work [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4696958), if you're interested. It's depressing and sad though, so if you've had a beloved pet pass away, this might trigger old memories.
> 
> I hope you guys understand that I didn't write the story so that I could garner pity or sympathy. I just wanted you guys to know how deeply affected I am by this loss, and how badly I am grieving for her.
> 
> And PLEASE, don't tell me you know how I feel, or that you understand, or that you sympathize with my loss, and PLEASE don't share your own experiences with me. I know that sounds so terrible and rude, because I'm sure there ARE a good number of you who know how I feel and understand and sympathize. But the pain--my pain--is fresh, and I just want to grieve for my Sunday, not hear about your own pain and loss. Not yet. Please respect that.
> 
> I'll post the next chapter, I just don't know when. Again, I'm sorry for the delay, and I hope you understand why it's happening.
> 
> EDIT: So yeah, inspiration in the form of nothing-to-do and need-to-be-busy has me writing the first part of the next chapter. I think, however, that this one might come out messy, considering my current state of depression. Anyone willing to beta for me once I've got Steve's part down? Bucky's and Darcy's parts to follow, but I'm not sure if that'll come soon or later. Thank you.


End file.
